


One Hundred Ways to Say "I Love You"

by magneticdice



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, hand holding, just general warning for things that are canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 28,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/pseuds/magneticdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of independent drabbles inspired by <a href="http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you">this</a> post. (Each chapter can be read as a standalone fic and you don't need to read the others to enjoy one!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe the biggest undertaking I've ever been stupid enough to attempt...

Mickey didn't know why he'd agreed to go to Niagara Falls with Ian, but here they were, driving eight hours in the rain just to get to the stupid waterfall.

It had taken Ian a week to get out of bed this time. That meant that for the last week, Mickey had been a nervous wreck, constantly checking their bedroom to make sure the redhead was still breathing, still hanging on... that he hadn't snuck into the bathroom and tried to hang himself with the shower curtain or cut his wrists and bled out in the tub. It had been fucking hell each time he'd been forced to go out of the house for work or whatnot and leave Ian alone, and now that Ian was up again, literally and figuratively, Mickey didn't want to spend a single moment away from him.

So, when Ian had come up with the crazy idea of driving all the way to New York to see the falls, he had given in without much of a fight. Seeing Ian so excited about something again – even something as wild as driving all night to see the shitty American side of the Canadian landmark – was more of a relief than he could put into words.

They had just passed Cleveland when Mickey noticed Ian's eyelids beginning to droop. "You okay?" he asked the younger boy. He made an effort to keep his voice neutral and conceal his worry, knowing it would make Ian defensive if he implied that he couldn't handle it himself.

"Yeah," Ian answered happily, blinking quickly. "We're halfway there!" he added, glancing sideways at Mickey.

"Great," The brunet replied with more enthusiasm than he actually felt. He reached forward and switched radio stations, finding something with a bit of a faster tempo, then sat back in his chair and continued staring at the wipers and they rhythmically moved back and forth across the windshield.

The highways were practically empty and they were making excellent time. They made it to Eerie in another hour and a half, but by that point, the initial excitement of seeing something new and magnificent that had been coursing through Ian's veins seemed to have dissipated. Mickey had come to learn to expect it now: Ian would start something new in his manic phase and lose interest fairly quickly, moving on to the next wild and exciting thing, completely forgetting about the first one.

He had also learned that telling his boyfriend what to do never worked. Mickey slowly but deliberately put his left hand over Ian's right one, lacing their fingers together. "Pull over," he suggested, giving Ian's hand a little squeeze. "Let me drive for awhile."

Ian looked over and Mickey wide-eyed and flashed him a toothy grin. The rare show of affection from the brunet was enough to convince Ian to cooperate. He signaled and gradually pulled over to the shoulder so that they could switch places.

Another two hours later, Mickey pulled into a parking spot just a hundred feet from the short stone wall that lined the viewing area for pedestrians. He leaned over the car's center console and gently ran his fingers through Ian's hair to wake him up.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. Get your ass up," he ribbed. Ian rubbed at his eyes and sat up before taking a look around and realizing they had already arrived. The sun had just begun to rise, casting an orange glow over their surroundings.

"Oh, hey," Ian answered, once he'd fully woken up. They wordlessly got out of the car and walked towards the edge of the falls. All they could hear was the endlessly loud, all-consuming sound of water rushing down over the cliffs and pounding into the rocks below. Ian took his cell phone out and started snapping pictures left and right, and Mickey didn't even tease him about it.

He didn't even object when Ian suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, taking a selfie of the both of them with the falls in the background. This was a day he wouldn't mind remembering – one of the few bright ones, surrounded by way too many dark ones. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey was in a bad fucking mood. He had been in Indiana for the last couple of days, helping Iggy clean up the mess he'd made while trying to make a little money on the side. He didn't understand why his brother never learned that he couldn't just come up with his own stupid plans and execute them by himself.

The last thing Mickey needed when he got home was to realize that Ian wasn't there. He picked up his cell phone and was about to call his boyfriend when Mandy walked past his bedroom.

"He went home yesterday," she told him, not even stopping to say anything close to a hello.

He huffed out a muffled thanks and started looking around for his sweater before heading out. Summer had come to an end way too quickly and it was already too cold at night to sleep without a heavy blanket. (Of course, having Ian's warm body behind him while they slept definitely helped stave off the cold.)

Ten minutes later he still hadn't found his usual beige sweater so he settled on grabbing a light jacket. He made the short walk over to the Gallagher house and went around to the back door when he saw lights on in the kitchen.

He tapped on the door lightly and Ian's younger brother Carl leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table to unlock the door and allow him in.

"Ian here?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer. Carl pointed to the stairs and Mickey rushed up them, not in the mood for any pointless chit-chat.

He pushed open Ian's bedroom door and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the redhead sitting on his old bed, scribbling into his notebook. It reminded him of when Ian had come back after his brief running-away phase almost a year ago.

"Hey," he breathed, almost embarrassed at how happy just seeing Ian made him.

"Oh, hey Mick," Ian said, looking up from his notebook. "Everything okay with Iggy?" he asked, genuine concern on his face. He shifted over on the bed, making space for Mickey.

"Yeah, 's'all good," he answered, taking his jacket off and sliding down onto the bed beside Ian.

Ian eventually leaned against him, and Mickey could feel his usual warmth on his arm, even through their clothes. "Felt weird being in your house without you there..." he explained, as if he could read Mickey’s thoughts without the older boy having to even ask why he’d left.

"Sorry," Mickey responded after a beat. "Didn't think it'd take more than a day."

They sat in silence for a while, both just happy to be in each other's presence again. Ian eventually went back to scribbling and Mickey busied himself with looking around the room while still attempting not to be too nosy by asking Ian what he was writing.

That was when he noticed his sweater on the bed, right beside Ian's pillow. "What the hell, man? I spent like twenty minutes looking for that today," Mickey complained, pointing at the beige sweater. He knew it wasn't big enough for Ian's long torso and he sure as hell hadn't accidentally forgotten it at the Gallagher house, so it being there made no sense to him.

"What?" Ian asked before looking up. "Oh, sorry," he said, noticing what Mickey was pointing at. "It reminded me of you," he confessed. "You know, the smell and everything..."

Ian's cheeks were red and he blushed even deeper when he and Mickey made eye contact. Ian had basically admitted to taking the sweater just to be a little closer to Mickey while they'd been apart, and that small confession made Mickey's chest fill. So instead of teasing him about it, Mickey flashed him a crooked smile.

"I missed you too," he said, leaning forward and giving the redhead a quick kiss on the cheek. It caught Ian off guard but he recovered quickly, putting his hands on either side of Mickey's face and pulling him closer.


	3. Chapter 3

Going shopping for clothes was one of the things Ian hated the most. For one thing, he'd usually been given Lip's hand-me-downs, so he always felt guilty asking Fiona to buy him things they sure as hell couldn't afford, even when they were necessary. That was why he'd gotten used to shopping at flea markets and second-hand stores like the Swap-O-Rama, using whatever money he had managed to save for himself from working at the Kash and Grab.

Mickey had been teasing him about his clothes being worn out for months, which was true, since he hadn’t bought anything new for himself in almost a year. "Don't get me wrong," the brunet said, sticking a finger through one of the many holes in Ian's t-shirt, "I'm all for the easy access," he teasingly rubbed at Ian's nipple, sending a chill down the redhead's back, "but this is getting a little ridiculous."

"As if your clothes are in any better shape?" Ian answered defensively, pointing to the end of the bed. Mickey's socks were so tattered that there was more foot than sock visible.

"Fair point, dickhead" Mickey conceded, shoving his feet under the warmth of their blanket. He poked at Ian’s feet with his cold ones and Ian couldn’t help but laugh. "We can go shopping tomorrow," he said, resting his head down on Ian’s chest. "I’ll get some new stuff too. You've got off in the morning, right?"

"Yeah..." Ian said, voice apprehensive. He didn’t know what Mickey had in mind, but he definitely couldn’t afford to go to the mall or anything. Maybe he could get away with just buying one shirt…

“You don’t sound too excited,” Mickey told him, pulling his finger out of Ian’s shirt and using it to tilt the redhead’s face so that he could see him better. “What’s wrong?”

Ian pressed his lips together before looking down into Mickey’s eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s all good,” he said, feigning excitement. “Shopping, tomorrow morning.” He looked away, not wanting Mickey to see how uncomfortable he was.

Mickey shifted his weight onto his elbow and used it to push up off the bed. “D’you think I’m an idiot?” he accused, forcing Ian to look at him again. “What’s wrong?” he repeated, more forcefully.

Ian sighed because when the hell did Mickey become so good at reading him? “I don’t really need new clothes, Mick. I mean, mine aren’t _that_ worn. Maybe I can ask Sheila to sew them or something,” he reasoned.

“Are you fucking serious?” Mickey demanded, raising an eyebrow. “Your boxers are so worn out I can see your junk through ‘em. Again, not really _complaining_ ,” Mickey teased, smirking while he reached down to cup at Ian’s dick.

Ian swatted Mickey’s hand away with a playful laugh. “I’m serious though... It’s fine. There are a lot of other things we should buy first. Like a functioning _heater_ , maybe,” he jibed, shoving his elbow into Mickey’s side.

“You wouldn’t feel so cold if you had better clothes,” Mickey muttered. “Is that what this is about? Money?”

Ian looked guiltily at Mickey. “My meds aren’t exactly the cheapest things in the world,” he began, “and I’m trying to help out with groceries and shit as much as I can-”

“No, no,” Mickey said, cutting him off. “It’s my treat.”

Ian barked out another laugh. The last guy to buy him clothing had been Kash, and Lip had made him feel more than guilty about that. “I’m not letting you buy me clothes,” he said, shaking his head. All he needed was to feel like some kind of kept boy again...

“Well, I’m not letting you freeze to death this winter,” Mickey shot back. “Besides, I still have some cash from that moving job we pulled with Iggy last summer.”

Ian frowned, still not happy with how the conversation had gone. He seriously hated shopping, and the thought of going to some random store and having Mickey pay for his things made him feel like crap. The worst part was that he couldn’t even offer to pay Mickey back with any sexual favors because he’d come across sounding like a freaking hooker.

“What are you thinking?” Mickey wondered.

“I’m trying to think of how I can pay you back,” Ian admitted.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Gallagher,” Mickey told him. “We can call it even.”

Ian tilted his head to the side, confused. “What? How is it even? You want to spend money on me but I haven’t gotten you anything, and God only knows when I’ll be able to save enough to pay you back…” he began.

He was interrupted by Mickey’s huff of annoyance. “You’re _here_ , aren’t you?”

Ian furrowed his brow together, still trying to understand what Mickey was saying. Mickey must have realized Ian hadn’t made sense of his answer yet because he rolled his eyes at him. “You’re gonna make me spell it out?” he asked, shaking his head. “You let me be me. That’s all I need… I’d say we’re more than even.”

The warmth Ian felt at hearing Mickey’s bluntly honest words was enough to break him. He had no idea what to say in response to the man he loved, so he settled for putting an arm around him and pulling Mickey back down to the bed, back onto his spot against his chest. Ian leaned down and pressed a kiss into Mickey’s hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey had done everything he could think of to put off getting ready, from showering to putting gel in his hair to shaving, even putting bandaids over his knuckle tattoos. The only thing left to do was to actually get dressed, and he was stalling as much as possible because the last thing he wanted to be doing was dressing up in a freaking suit again.

Even without the jacket, he didn’t think he could pull it off... Whenever he looked in the mirror, he just saw a thug wearing a costume. He’d been confident enough when planning the scam with Iggy and Colin, but now that it was crunch time, he felt like anyone a mile away would be able to tell he was a phony.

Putting on his tie was the last step, which he did painstakingly slowly because he was so terrible at it. He didn’t give a shit if he kept his brothers waiting in the living room; if he stood any chance of being a convincing North Sider, he would need to appear civilized.

Finally finished, he walked out of the bedroom and into the craziness of the rest of the overcrowded Milkovich house. Iggy was standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, visibly fighting the urge to complain that they were going to be late. At least he knew better than to whine to Mickey again. Colin was no where in sight, so Mickey assumed he’d gone to wait in the car.

“Oh hey, there you are,” Ian said, walking towards Mickey from the kitchen. He had Yevgeny in his arms, but the baby looked like he was practically asleep. Mickey wondered yet again why Ian was the one constantly taking care of the kid. Svetlana looked more than capable, despite being pregnant again. He looked past Ian and noted that Nika was ironing topless. He rolled his eyes. Would it kill her to put a fucking shirt on once in a while?

“Hey,” he answered Ian. “We’re running late, sorry. See you later?”

Before he could walk away, the ginger grabbed him by his shirt and tie and pulled him close, then gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Mickey moved back once Ian had let him go, and attempted to straighten out his now-ruffled shirt. “The fuck, Ian?” he huffed.

Ian flashed him an incredulous look, and Mickey could tell he was judging him for being embarrassed about the kiss in front of the rest of his family. “It’s not that,” he said quickly, dismissing Ian’s indignant frown. “You ruined my fucking tie.”

“Come here. Let me fix it,” Ian ordered. Without even waiting for Mickey to answer, he pushed the baby into his arms and started fiddling with the tie, readjusting it this way and that while Yevgeny squirmed in Mickey’s awkward grasp of him. He pulled at Mickey’s collar and straightened out his shirt before picking up the baby again.

“You look _hot_ ,” Ian whispered into his ear, so low that only Mickey could hear. He flashed Mickey a toothy grin before heading back to the kitchen and Mickey watched him go, feeling like maybe he could pull off the look after all.


	5. Chapter 5

"You _have_ to stop smoking in front of the baby. You're gonna give him asthma or cancer," Ian accused. Mickey was just getting home from work and he almost wished he'd taken his time getting back. It seemed like Ian and Svetlana were at it again, and he hated being there when they argued.

Svetlana coolly stared Ian down for a few seconds before taking another puff of her cigarette and blowing it into his face.

"You're pregnant," Ian huffed, waving his hand through the small cloud to disperse it, keeping it away from both himself and Yevgeny. "You can't keep smoking while you're pregnant," he told her.

"Why?" Svetlana shot back, voice thick with her accent and full of attitude. "I smoke with first baby," she gestured to Yevgeny with her cigarette. "He come out fine."

That was when they both turned to Mickey, who was trying to move from the entrance to the bedroom without being noticed. "You have to tell her to stop smoking in front of Yevgeny," Ian demanded. He stared at Mickey expectantly, but frowned when Mickey didn't back him up.

"My house. My baby. I do what I want, and Howdy Doody can’t tell me what to do in _my_ home," she told Ian with a sneer before turning her back to him and continuing whatever she had been up to in the kitchen.

Ian's jaw was set and his face was a bright shade of red. He headed towards the bedroom, only stopping long enough to push the pudgy baby boy into Mickey's hands.

"Gallagher..." Mickey began, but was soon cut off by the sound of the bedroom door being slammed shut. Mickey went to the living room and put the baby down into the bassinet.

"Orange boy needs to learn his place," Svetlana told him.

Mickey spun around to face her. "I'd be fucking careful if I were you," he warned. It might not have been obvious to Ian, but if it came down to it, Mickey knew he would choose him over Svetlana – baby or no baby.

Mickey carefully walked into the bedroom but was stunned when he saw Ian stuffing clothes into a backpack.

"The fuck?"

"She's right. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here. I'm gonna go home."

Mickey felt a familiar ache growing in his chest at the thought of Ian leaving. The problem was that he knew exactly what Ian was feeling, and the redhead was completely justified in feeling that way. Mickey _hadn't_ stepped up for him. He hadn't contradicted Svetlana when she had said it wasn't Ian's home, and he hadn't even given Ian any indication that he agreed with him.

Despite wanting Ian to stay, he knew his boyfriend was right. Ian going home was probably the only thing that would keep the fight from escalating, since a compromise was out of the question. He wasn't about to tell his pregnant wife and supposed kid to go live on the street...

He wanted Ian to know that just because they had a fight, it didn't mean they were over.

"I'll walk you home," he said to Ian. It was the only thing he _could_ say.

Ian looked up at him in surprise. Their eyes locked and Mickey hoped that everything he felt was being communicated to his boyfriend. He didn't _want_ him to go, but also understood that – in that moment – he had to.

Ian's expression softened and he broke eye contact, looking down at his backpack with a frown.

Mickey noticed Ian's hesitation and didn't miss his opportunity. He stepped closer, gently pried the backpack out of the redhead's grip and turned it over, dumping the contents of the bag back onto their bed with a grin.

And to his relief, Ian grinned right back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently when i'm not happy, my writing comes out more angsty... sorry that this one isn't as cute and fluffy as the previous ones.


	6. Chapter 6

Mickey’s alarm went off at eight, just like it did every morning. He hurried to slap at it and shut it off so as not to wake up Ian, who’d only been asleep for a few hours.

Now that Ian was “out of his funk” as Mickey liked to think of it, they had settled into more of a routine. Mickey would get up, get ready and make it to work by nine. He’d get back around seven or eight at night, around the time Ian would be heading out to go to work at the club. It made spending time together a rare thing, but a special one nonetheless, saved for cherished days off and weekends.

The thing Mickey looked forward to the most, however, was when Ian would get back from work each night. The younger boy would take a shower regardless of the time, and then slip into bed just behind Mickey, naked, wrapping his arms around him tightly, enveloping him in his warm, sweet-smelling, just-bathed body.

Ian would run his hands gently along Mickey’s arms while kissing his pale skin tenderly, everywhere from the crook of his neck to just behind his ear, sending chills down the brunet’s back despite the heat of Ian’s body pressing against him. It was definitely one of the nicer ways of being woken up; a little middle-of-the-night exercise session that neither of them minded ‒ not in the least bit.

So each morning, when the buzzer went off and tore Mickey away from his pocket of bliss, he felt like ripping the thing out of the wall and tossing it to opposite side of the room. He imagined the alarm shattering into hundreds of pieces, all bouncing back into the room in different directions; a victorious defeat against the evil machine that was ruining his morning… but instead, he silenced it with a heavy hand and dutifully got up out of bed.

This morning was no different from any other morning. He quietly went to the bathroom, rinsed out his mouth and slicked back his hair, even managing to get dressed without waking up the redhead… or so he thought, until a hand reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back onto the bed without warning.

Ian was on top of him at lightning speed, mounting him and grinding their hips together. Mickey gasped in surprise but let Ian kiss him long and hard before catching his breath. “I can’t,” he choked without any real conviction. “I’ll be late…”

Ian shifted his weight off of Mickey and gave him a skeptical look. “ _Really_?”

Mickey nodded regretfully.

Ian was obviously disappointed. He tried to hide it by looking away but Mickey could tell he’d let him down, especially considering the redhead’s recent sexual… _appetite_. “Sorry…” he muttered, but it seemed pointless as his still-naked boyfriend rolled off of him and got back under the covers.

“Ian…” he tried again. When Ian didn’t stir, Mickey walked around to the other side of the bed and put a hand under Ian’s chin, forcing him to look up. “Hey… I’ll leave early today, ‘kay?” Still no reaction. “Maybe I’ll get us some pizza on the way back. You can eat a slice... and then I can eat you,” he tried, raising a suggestive eyebrow at his clever pun.

He wasn’t sure if it was the allure of pizza or the promise of banging that did the trick, but one of them must have worked because Ian was grinning at Mickey despite his efforts to still look angry. Mickey smirked back at him, the kinky motherfucker…

He stood up and finished putting his socks on. “I’ll see you later?” he asked tentatively, looking back at Ian. The redhead looked amazing, stretched out on their bed, and Mickey knew that if he didn’t leave soon, he would be drawn right back into bed and into Ian’s arms again.

“Have a good day at work,” Ian told him slyly, still smiling.

Mickey shook his head and walked out, knowing it would probably feel like the longest fucking day ever, especially now that he had something to look forward to at the end of it.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you remember your dreams when you wake up?” Ian randomly asked Mickey. They were lying in bed, completely spent after their second round of fooling around. Ian could still feel his heart racing, pounding in his chest like he had just run a marathon, which ‒ considering how intense the sex had been ‒ he kind of had.

Mickey turned his head to the side to give Ian a strange look but didn’t answer, so Ian continued talking. “I dreamt that I was standing in a room full of mirrors. You know… like in a fitting room, when all you see behind you and in front of you is yourself. What do you think that means?”

He looked at Mickey expectantly and the older man shrugged. “Well, it was weird. I tried to leave the room but every time I opened the door, I was standing in the same room again,” he went on without missing a beat. “But then when I tried looking at the mirrors closer, my reflection started getting all warped. It reminded me of funhouse mirrors. God, I used love those when I was a kid,” he told Mickey with a little laugh. “Lip and I would sneak in when the ticket guy wasn’t looking, and once we were inside, we could stay as long as we wanted. It wasn’t like Frank or Monica were gonna come looking for us, right?” he laughed again, remembering how much he enjoyed those summer nights when the carnival came to town. “It was the best.”

“Did you go to the carnival when you were younger?” He gazed at Mickey with curiosity and the brunet responded with a slight nod, eyes still closed. “I bet you used to go a lot. I bet you stole all the other kids’ candy and shit,” Ian mused. “I never got any candy, but the funhouse… it was definitely my favorite thing. Think that’s why I had that dream?” he wondered.

More silence from Mickey. Ian was starting to feel like his boyfriend wasn’t even listening to him. He turned onto his side and used his elbow to prop himself up. “Mick?”

Nothing. “Mickey...” he tried again, this time poking the brunet in the side, right under his ribs.

“What?” Mickey groaned.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ian accused.

Mickey cracked open one eye and rolled it when he saw Ian staring at him, eyebrows knit together in annoyance. “Yeah,” he answered simply.

“I don’t believe you,” Ian shot back.

Mickey sighed and turned onto his side too, so that he and Ian were facing one another. “Dreams, mirrors, funhouses, carnivals, and you think I was a terror. Noted,” he said, tapping his head.

“Then why aren’t you answering any of my questions?”

“C’mon, Gallagher. Can’t I fucking catch my breath for like two fucking seconds? I don’t know where the hell you find all this energy,” he complained.

Ian frowned and lay back down on his back. He suddenly felt self conscious, and wondered ‒ not for first time ‒ if he was oblivious to his own manic actions.

“Hey,” Mickey said, reaching over and putting his arm around Ian’s bicep; his fingers felt so cold on his skin. Ian reluctantly looked back at him. “I dreamt about you last night,” Mickey said quietly.

Ian’s eyes widened in surprise at the Milkovich’s confession. “You did? What about me? What were we doing? I mean, it wasn't just me, right? Were you there too?” he asked, questions just pouring out. Mickey’s answering blush only fueled his curiosity even more.

Mickey shook his head but Ian couldn’t help but notice he was blushing even deeper. “Come on… tell me,” he pushed.

When Mickey still refused to answer him, Ian shot up and mounted the shorter man. “ _Tell_ me,” he insisted.

“How ‘bout I show you?” Mickey suggested with a lewd smirk. Ian didn’t waste any time considering it because before he knew it, they had already started on round three.


	8. Chapter 8

Going to the movies with a guy was something Mickey had vowed to himself never to do; it would feel too much like a fucking date, and Mickey Milkovich did _not_ do dates.

Except this night, when Ian had finally won the what-should-we-do-tonight debate. It had only taken Mickey _three_ years to give in. And why the fuck shouldn’t they go to the movies? They watched movies together at home all the time. Mickey had come out, and it wasn’t like anyone would even be able to recognize him in the dark theater…

None of that changed the fact that he still felt awkward as fuck.

The only thing he really had to be embarrassed about was how awkward the quasi-date would actually be. He didn’t want Ian to get any ideas… It wasn’t like he was going to buy him popcorn or put his arm around his shoulders or anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to see any romantic piece of shit movie.

Gallagher had been talking about seeing Taken 3 for weeks, so there they were, on a random Wednesday night, sneaking into the movie theater. It was easier to do during the week than on the weekend; less people meant less chances of being spotted.    

Mickey didn’t get why his boyfriend wanted to see the movie so badly. “How the fuck can Liam Neeson let his daughter get taken _again_? You’d think he’d learn to be more careful,” he complained.

“His daughter doesn’t get taken this time, Mick. At least, I don’t think she does. Apparently the wife gets killed in the beginning of this one and he gets framed for it, so he goes after the people who really killed her to get revenge and clear his name,” Ian explained as they crept around the building to the emergency exit.

Mickey had it on good authority that the shitty theater stopped paying the alarm company over a year ago, so he knew that their only real obstacle would be the lock, which he had no problem picking. Easy as a Russian prostitute, he joked to himself, knowing Ian wouldn’t find it as funny as he did.

“It’s just gonna be the same shit again,” Mickey continued, ignoring Ian’s explanation. He felt the tumblers click into place and turned the doorknob, pulling the door open with ease. “Him using his ‘particular set of skills’ to kick everyone’s ass and blow things up.”

“Even if it is, is that such a problem? I mean, we liked the first two movies,” Ian said, following Mickey in.

“Speak for yourself,” he answered over his shoulder as they went up the stairs.

“Come on, I know you liked them,” Ian argued. “You were grinning through the whole action sequence in the second one. I _saw_ your face.”

“Whatever,” Mickey muttered, not conceding. “Now shut the fuck up before someone hears us,” he ordered. He knew no one would really hear them, but it was the only thing he could think of saying to change the subject. He didn’t want to think about Ian _watching_ him while they watched the movie.

They timed it perfectly, finding the right theater just as the previews came to an end. Mickey led Ian to the back of the room and they took their seats in the center of the last row. He felt that awkwardness starting to build in his gut again, so he deliberately sat down stiff as a board, making sure to keep his hands and legs as far from Ian as possible.

Five minutes in, some random douchebag walked in late and decided to sit right in front of Mickey, as if there were no other fucking seats available. Mickey decided not to make an issue of it since the movie had already started, so he leaned to the left to try and see around the tall asshole, only the way the seats were aligned made his attempt futile. His only option was to lean to his right, closer to Ian.

Mickey carefully shifted to the right and leaned his weight on the armrest between their seats. The guy’s fat head still took up the left corner of the screen. Mickey sighed in annoyance.

“Should we move over?” Ian suggested in a whisper, startling Mickey.

Mickey looked at him with a scowl.

“What?” Ian asked innocently.

“If we move over, we won’t be in the middle,” Mickey told him, voice hushed. They had the best seats in the theater and he wasn’t about to give that up because of some lone asshole. Who the fuck went to the movies alone, anyway?

“One seat isn’t gonna make a difference!” Ian reasoned quietly into his ear. Mickey didn’t think that deserved an answer, because _of course_ one seat made a difference. Like, if the douche in front of them had sat one seat over, they wouldn’t be having this fucking conversation in the middle of the movie.

“So you’re just gonna suffer?” the redhead wondered.

Mickey crossed his arms and bit his lip, still refusing to answer.

They went back to watching the movie. Mickey eventually relaxed and put his arm back on the armrest so that he could continue leaning on it to see around the fucker in front of him.

“Want me to get you a booster seat?” Ian asked a few minutes later. Mickey glared at him and saw Ian’s head tilted towards him, evil grin visible in the glow from the screen.

“Are you fucking making fun of my height?” Mickey choked, both eyebrows flying up his forehead.

“Or lack thereof,” Ian shot back.

Mickey tightened his grip on the armrest and heard a couple of his knuckles even crack.

“Relax Mick, I’m only teasing,” Ian said, taking his hand and laying it across Mickey’s in an attempt to calm him. It had quite the opposite effect; the brunet froze, every muscle stiffening as if he was made of ice. Holding hands in public was just _not_ something they did, and was exactly why Mickey had avoided going to the movies with Ian all these years.

“Take my seat,” Ian told him moments later. “You’ll still be in the middle.” Ian stood up and waited for him to move. Mickey was still so thrown off by the whole hand-holding thing that he couldn’t come up with any reason to object, so he quickly shifted to the seat beside him that Ian had vacated.

Ian stepped over his legs with ease and plopped down into Mickey’s former spot. Of fucking course _he_ had no problem seeing over the asshole. Fucking ginger giant…

“Your new seat comes at a price,” Ian whispered not thirty seconds later. He held out his hand over the armrest, palm up, fingers spread apart, and wiggled them expectantly.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Mickey groaned.

Ian ginned and shook his head. “Nope, totally serious,” he said. “And if you don’t pay up, the price’ll just go up. I’m guessing you’ve never hooked up in a movie theater?” Ian mused.

“Oh my fucking god,” Mickey breathed, slamming his hand down onto Ian’s and shoving his fingers between his boyfriend’s fingers. He didn’t know if the redhead was bluffing or not, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take that chance. Plus, he would never admit it, but he was actually enjoying the movie so far and would have done anything to shut Ian up.

Ian tightened his grip on Mickey’s hand. “Good choice,” he said with a barely audible chuckle, before he also resumed watching the film.


	9. Chapter 9

Patrick Gallagher was at it again. Despite agreeing to charge them a reasonable rent amount the prior year, he'd gone back on his word and hiked up the Gallaghers' monthly payments so much that Fiona was having doubts about whether or not they'd even make it through to the end of the summer.

She'd confided in Ian one night at the end of summer, telling him all about her money problems now that the rent had gone up. It had felt like a big step to Ian. The whole family had been walking on eggshells around him ever since his most recent episode, as if they didn't trust him with anything – not even picking Liam up from nursery. The only one who still treated him like he wasn't a ticking time bomb of mental instability was Mickey.

Apparently Fiona had become desperate enough ask him to reach out to Mickey for help on her behalf. His boyfriend was was all-too happy to oblige. Ian knew that Mickey still harbored resentment towards Patrick for stealing his chain and embarrassing him the last time he went to "have a chat" with him about the rent on the Gallagher house.

This time, Mickey planned on going with a whole fucking army of Milkoviches, including all of his brothers and cousins, and even whichever Gallaghers were willing to join in. It was their home on the line, after all.

Everyone met at Mickey's place, and Iggy proceeded to pass out the weapons. Carl had come prepared with the family bat, so Iggy skipped him and passed Lip and Fiona twin AK-47s.

"You know how to use these?" he asked them.

"Is he serious?" Fiona wondered.

"You know we live a couple blocks away, right? We learned how to shoot guns before we learned how to ride bikes," Lip answered, rolling his eyes.

Apparently that was a good enough answer for Iggy, because he turned around and went back to their cabinet to get the rest of the guns.

"Jesus, it's like an arsenal in there," Debbie told Mickey, wide-eyed as she peeked around Mickey to look into the cabinet.

"It's alright," Mickey told her modestly, but Ian could hear the pride in his voice. "Gets the job done, right?"

"Yup," Iggy said, coming back with two more guns. He passed one to Svetlana then went to give the other to Debbie, but Fiona stopped him.

"No way," she said to Iggy. Shaking her head, she turned and spoke to Debbie. "You and Ian stay here with Liam and the baby."

Debbie pouted at Fiona's well-meaning mothering, but it took Ian a minute to actually hear what Fiona had said.

"Wait, what?" He looked at Fiona with shock. Debbie was more than capable of watching the youngest kids on her own.

He saw his older sister and brother exchange a look. "Yeah," Lip agreed quickly. "Someone has to stay here with Liam and Yevgeny."

It was only then that Ian realized they were sidelining him because they didn't trust him to stay cool under the pressure. It made his blood boil but at the same time left him feeling like complete crap.

"I'm not waiting here while you guys all go," Ian said. Despite the bitterness in his voice, he stared at Fiona and made it clear that he was adamant about going along. "Debbie can watch them alone. Right Debs?" he asked, turning his glare to his younger sister.

"Uhm, yeah," Debbie answered.

"Fine, but no guns," Fiona shot back, clearly not happy about their little compromise.

Debbie took Yevgeny from Svetlana's arms and went with Liam into the bedroom. The rest of them began filing out of the house shortly afterwards and joined the rest of the Milkovich clan out in the front yard.

"Hold up," Mickey called after him, signaling for Ian to hang back. He left the small procession and walked towards the brunet, mentally preparing himself for whatever annoying advice Mickey would give him.

The older man reached behind his shirt and pulled out what Ian recognized to be a Glock .9 from its spot tucked in Mickey's jeans.

"I saved a piece for you," he told Ian, quickly shoving the handgun into the redhead's hands. "Just don't let Fiona see it or she'll rip me a new one," he whispered. "And that's supposed to be your job," he added with a dirty smirk.

Ian stared at the gun and then at Mickey for a long minute before gratefully returning the smirk and stowing the gun behind his belt.

He followed Mickey out and pulled the door shut behind him, careful not to let anyone see him grinning. It wasn't just about the gun, but it was everything the gun meant. Mickey cared about him enough to know that, and the trust he conveyed with that simple gesture meant the world to Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so my first thought when I read "I saved a piece for you"  
> was cake, but then I remembered that "piece" was also slang for "gun" and couldn't help myself. Mickey + guns works a lot better than Mickey + cake, right??


	10. Chapter 10

When Ian was ready to leave for his morning jog with Fiona, Mickey was already awake. He was in the living room, looking behind the couch cushions for something.

“Hey, I’m about to go,” Ian told him.

“Uh-huh,” Mickey replied absentmindedly, distracted by whatever he was searching for.

That wasn’t good enough for Ian. He walked over to him and pulled Mickey’s face up by his chin. “I’m about to go,” he repeated, looking right into Mickey’s bright blue eyes and raising his eyebrows. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against the brunet’s soft lips. “Bye,” he added with a smirk.

Mickey swallowed and blinked when Ian pulled away, then answered, “bye,” after a beat.

Now _that_ was much better, Ian thought, licking his lips and relishing the taste of Mickey on them as he walked out of the house, still smiling.

He returned almost an hour later, sweating like a dog. He walked inside and was a little surprised to see Mickey still looking around. He wondered if the older man had been going through the rest of the house the entire time he’d been gone. A peek inside their ransacked bedroom told him the answer to his question was yes.

“Hey ‘Lana,” Mickey called into the kitchen. “You seen my lighter anywhere?”

“No,” was his wife’s simple answer.

“Fuck,” the brunet muttered to himself. “You sure you didn’t see it?” he asked her again.

She flashed him an annoyed look at being asked the same thing twice, but there wasn’t any real animosity in it. “Ask your brother,” she suggested.

Mickey apparently jumped at the possible lead, walking past Ian ‒ without any kind of hello ‒ and straight into his brother’s bedroom. “Ay, Iggy,” Mickey said. “What’d you do with my lighter?”

Ian watched with interest as a confused looking Iggy took a hit from his bong. “What…?” Iggy asked, exhaling. Ian noted that Iggy had a red, plastic Bic in his free hand.

“Nevermind,” Mickey told him with a wave of his hand before returning to the living room, once again ignoring Ian.

Ian took a quick sniff under his armpit. It was bad but not bad enough to warrant being avoided. He shrugged and decided that a shower was his priority. He could figure out what was up his boyfriend’s ass later.

Mandy was just walking out of the bathroom as he got to the end of the hall. “Hey,” he said in greeting, sticking out a hand to stop her from leaving before he got a chance to talk to her. “What’s so special about Mickey’s lighter? He’s acting like it’s made of gold or something,” Ian joked.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “He asked me to help him find it this morning. I don’t even get why he cares about the stupid thing. He’s had it since the fifth grade,” she told him with a sigh before trying to go to her room.

“Wait,” Ian said after her. “The Zippo?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, over her shoulder, then disappeared into her room and shut the door behind her.

While Ian stood under the shower and let the water run over his tired body, he thought back to the few times he’d seen Mickey use the Zippo with the skull and crossbones on it. They were few and far between; it seemed like Mickey only used it on special occasions.

The last time he remembered seeing it was the morning after the Christening. His boyfriend had been sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping the lighter open and shut with one hand while he held a cigarette in the other, deep in thought. Ian had slowly sat up, ribs still aching, had grabbed a stick out of the pack on the bedside table and had asked Mickey for a light. But instead of passing the Zippo in his hands to Ian, the brunet had pointed to the one on the shelf behind their bed. Ian hadn’t really given it a second thought until now.

He turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist, still idly wondering about the lighter’s significance. Mickey was in the bedroom, picking their things off the floor when he walked in to get dressed.

Ian bent down and grabbed a clean pair of boxers from the bottom drawer of the dresser. “Any luck?” he asked Mickey

Mickey shook his head.

“Well, do you remember where you last saw it? Odds are it’s still there,” he suggested.

“If I remembered where I last saw it then I wouldn’t still be fucking look for it, would I?” Mickey snapped.

Ian scowled. “What the hell is your problem?” He was only trying to help and Mickey had practically bitten his head off.

“I’m sick of everyone not giving a fuck. No one’s taking this seriously. I want my fucking lighter back,” he huffed.

“Who’d you steal it from anyway?” he asked. “Must’a been someone important if you’ve held on to it for this long.”

“I didn’t steal it, fuckface. I saved up and bought it,” Mickey grumbled, shoving a stack of refolded shirts into the drawer above their underwear.

Ian paused and thought about Mickey’s words. He had never realized how important the lighter was to Mickey, and if it was something that his boyfriend had actually worked for and bought back when he was in elementary school like Mandy had said, it made sense that it would be something he would hold on to.

Ian put a consoling arm on Mickey’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he deadpanned.

Mickey shoved his arm off and glared at him. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Ian let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “No, I’m being serious. Want me to help you look for it?”

He could tell that Mickey wasn’t sure if he was joking or not from the way he was watching his face for any indication that Ian was messing with him. After a moment, Ian saw Mickey’s shoulders visibly relax.

He smiled at Mickey, and even though Mickey was clearly still distraught about misplacing his lighter, he smiled back. After months of feeling like he was a burden on his boyfriend, the small gesture made Ian feel a little less crappy about himself… like he could actually do something useful to help Mickey out, for once.

“Just let me finish getting dressed,” Ian added, dropping the towel and stepping into the boxers he’d picked earlier.

Mickey’s gaze fell to Ian’s body and he raised his eyebrows, his smile twisting into a smirk. “Yeah, yeah,” he told him. “Get your precious body clothed. I’ll be in the living room.”

He started walking out of the room but stopped in the doorway. “Thanks,” he said to Ian gently, gratefully, then continued out, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this prompt was supposed to be about death but eek, sorry if i don't feel like killing anyone off! this is supposed to be romantic... or at least NOT depressing! so i asked some of my friends what else i can do for "i'm sorry for your loss" and they suggested a play on the word loss, hence mickey losing his lighter, hahaha. sorry if it's crap!


	11. Chapter 11

Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one of those days where every fucking thing that could go wrong did go wrong. It was like everyone and everything were conspiring against him; some real Murphy’s Law shit.

The moment he’d woken up, a screaming, stinky baby had been shoved into his arms because Svetlana had been late to another useless ultrasound appointment. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why these people were so impatient to see their future brat that they shelled out an extra hundred bucks a week just to see the black and white blob move a hand across the screen.

Seeing no sign of Ian, Mickey had dutifully changed and fed the baby on his own and had deposited him in Nika’s room, earning himself an earful of Russian profanities from the half-asleep blonde. The bitch needed to change her attitude if she wanted Mickey to keep letting her live there rent-free. Using her for her babysitting services seemed like a fair trade...

He’d made it to the Alibi only to be bombarded by people wanting his attention for this problem and that. Not enough lube upstairs, girls sweating their tits off, customers not paying up… and when he’d complained to Kev about fixing the AC for the tenth time that week, all he’d gotten in response was an earful of shit about babies not pooping and the benefits of breastfeeding. He’d shaken his head and gone back upstairs to deal with the _other_ whiny bitches.

After a long and trying day at the Rub ‘n’ Tug, Mickey finally got back home, and all he wanted was a nice, cold beer to help him unwind. He opened the fridge and reached for one of the bottles from the six-pack there, but was distracted by the shouting coming from Svetlana and Nika’s room.

He slid the beer back onto the rack and went to see what was going on, but regretted it the moment he stepped into the hallway. The girls were screaming at each other in Russian again, the exchange so loud that there was not even a chance in hell that the baby wouldn’t wake up. Sure enough, the minute Nika threw her trumpet across the room towards his wife and the instrument made a loud crash of metal when it hit the wall beside her, Yevgeny came to life, screaming his chunky little head off.

“Now you go and wake the baby!” Svetlana spat, throwing her hands into the air and storming out of the room. Mickey stepped aside, knowing better than to get in his wife’s way.

Nika made no indication of picking up the crying infant, so Mickey sighed and went to get him out of his bassinet. “Shh,” he whispered, bouncing the thing like he’d seen Ian do before. He paced the hall with the baby until it calmed down a beat. Nika had slammed the bedroom door shut behind him, so instead of returning Yevgeny there, he went in search of Svetlana. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking a beer and angrily glaring towards her room.

“What the fuck was that about?” Mickey asked her.

“She is jealous that I get more customers because they like girl with belly,” Svetlana answered simply before killing the rest of her beer, tossing the bottle into the sink and taking their son from his arms. “She will get over it,” she said, “if not tonight then in a few weeks.” She flashed him a weak smile as she went to the living room, baby on one hip, rubbing her belly with her free hand.

Mickey shrugged, thankful that was over, and went to get his bottle from the fridge. This time, he was interrupted by the sound of Iggy and Colin coming up the stairs and into the house. He could smell the cloud of smoke that followed in his brothers’ wake.

“That shit was insane,” Colin said to Iggy, still laughing.

“What the fuck have you idiots been up to?” Mickey wondered.

Iggy shouldered past him and grabbed two bottles out of the fridge. “Some idiot left his keys in the car when he ran to pick up his fucking dry cleaning,” Iggy explained, passing one of the beers to their brother. “So we borrowed it and got backed inside.”

“Borrowed?” Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We returned it with minimal damage,” Colin joked, holding his hands up to placate Mickey. “You know, a few hours later,” he added.

Mickey slid his hands down his face. “Did you idiots at least remember to wipe down the interior?” He wasn’t surprised when both Iggy and Colin looked at each other quizzically and shrugged.

“Relax, bro. S’all good,” Colin told him, unable to wipe the grin off his stoned face. “We just had a little fun.” They walked into the living room and plopped down onto the couch to watch TV, too high to care that Svetlana had cartoons on for the baby.

Mickey stared after them. How the fuck was he supposed to hold his family together when his brothers kept doing reckless shit like this?

As if on cue, Mandy came out of her bedroom and walked into the kitchen.

“What the fuck happened this time?” Mickey asked her, nodding towards the bruise on her cheek. “Did you fall again?” he accused. “Or maybe you walked into a door this time?”

“Mind your own fucking business, asswipe,” she retorted, going to the fridge and pulling the door open more violently than necessary.

“It is my fucking business when this shit happens in my house,” Mickey shot back, but his words fell on deaf ears. Mandy grabbed the last three beers and spun around to return to her room.

“Not so fucking fast,” Mickey said, reaching an arm over her shoulder and grabbing one bottle for himself. Mandy’s eyes were like daggers when she glared at him but she didn’t argue, instead continuing on her way back to her room and that asshole she called a boyfriend. Whatever, Mickey thought as she walked away. If she didn’t want his help, then that was her own fucking problem.

Mickey was tempted to cradle the last bottle against his chest as he made his way to the front door. It was still humid as fuck outside, but the night had brought a cool breeze along with it to distract him from the heaviness of the air around him. He sat down on the front steps and twisted the cap off his drink.

He stared out across the street and saw Ian quickly jogging across it, coming towards the house. He checked his phone for the time and wondered yet again how so much shit could have happened one after another, to the point where he didn’t even notice the day flying by.

Ian sat down beside him, letting his backpack fall off his shoulder and onto the steps. “Hey,” the redhead said, lightly banging his knee against Mickey’s.

“Hey,” Mickey answered tiredly.

“Long day?” Ian asked him, leaning forward to get a better look at Mickey’s face.

“The longest,” Mickey replied with a sigh.

“Same here,” Ian said. He stretched his legs out and leaned against Mickey’s side. His body was warm but it didn’t bother Mickey in the slightest.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Ian staring out at the neighborhood, Mickey watching the L as it rattled by every few minutes. They were both content to just _be_ there with each other.

“Here,” Mickey eventually said, breaking the silence and holding out the beer bottle to Ian. “You can have half.”


	12. Chapter 12

Ian knew that Mickey wasn't exactly happy about his new job. He could tell by the way the brunet got quiet whenever Ian mentioned something new about it, or from the way he avoided him before Ian left for work.

He was almost done getting dressed when Mickey awkwardly walked into their room to grab his cigarettes.

“Hi,” Ian said, but only received a slight head-nod in response. He watched Mickey pick up the new box and slam it into his palm a few times before peeling the plastic open.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“What?” Mickey aggressively shot back. He glared at Ian as the redhead slipped his shirt over his head and their last argument filled Ian’s thoughts. “ _What’s the fuckin’ point of getting dressed anyway if you’re just gonna take it all off later?_ ”

Ian frowned and looked away, not wanting to start another fight. He hated that Mickey was being like this – so cold and detached – but he had no idea how to fix it.

“I'm gonna have a cigarette,” Mickey muttered, leaving the room without a second glance towards Ian.

Ten minutes later, Ian was ready to leave. He grabbed his bag and slipped his sneakers on before waving to Svetlana and heading out. Mickey was sitting on the steps just outside the door, the butts of two cigarettes crushed beside him, with a third stick already half burnt down between his lips.

Ian wanted to say something to him… but didn’t know what. He walked down the stairs slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the ground in front of him.

He was already at the bottom of the steps when he heard Mickey’s voice. “Hey, wait,” Mickey called, so low that Ian would have missed it if not for the unbearable silence between them.

Ian stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head back to look at Mickey. His boyfriend was frowning too, obviously fighting with himself about what to say and what to keep to himself.

“Take my jacket,” Mickey told him before shrugging out of it. He tossed it towards the redhead and Ian caught it effortlessly. “It’s cold outside,” he reasoned, pressing his lips together.

Ian looked back up at Mickey and, for the first time, saw the genuine concern on his face. He knew that Mickey didn’t like how things were going between them any more than he did, and he also knew that it was hard for the older man to not let his jealousy get to him to the point of fighting with his boyfriend yet again.

Ian realized that Mickey giving him his jacket wasn’t a jab at his new job, but rather a peace offering to show that he still cared about his boyfriend’s well-being. So despite the fact that it was a fucking stupid gesture because Mickey’s jacket would never _actually_ fit him, Ian put the coat on.

The sleeves were about two inches too short on either side and it barely covered his waist, but Ian ignored all of that as he hugged the jacket around his waist. “Thanks,” he mouthed to Mickey, who nodded and lit up another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not exactly a long update but it's better than nothing! shoutout to grumblesandmumbles and mrsenneshaw for helping me out when i was completely stuck.


	13. Chapter 13

Ian felt like he had been neglecting his siblings lately, but he couldn't help it. He felt safe staying with Mickey. Even his relationship with Svetlana had improved over the last couple of months, to the point where he felt like the Milkovich house was his home too.

He attended the Gallagher family dinners at Fiona's job once a week, but somehow it felt like they weren't enough. He felt guilty that his siblings were growing and changing so quickly in between his visits. So when Debbie's junior high school graduation rolled around, he promised himself he would be there for his little sister.

He and Mickey were lying in bed when Ian propped himself up on his elbow and brought up the graduation again for what felt like the hundredth time. “It’s Friday at noon,” he said to Mickey. He wanted his boyfriend to go with him so badly and he tried to keep his voice from sounding too much like a nag, but failed miserably.

“I told you already,” Mickey told him, shaking his head. “I can’t do it. We have another moving job on Friday.”

“Come on, Mick…” Ian exaggeratedly pouted his lips. “ _Please?_ ” he begged.

“Don’t gimme that face,” the brunet groaned, gently shoving Ian’s head to the side, pushing it into his pillow.

Ian laughed softly and fought his way free of Mickey’s hold. “But it’s her graduation,” he tried one last time. “It’s only gonna happen once.”

“Yeah, her graduation from fucking _middle school_. Who the fuck even goes to those things?” Mickey complained, reaching for the cigarettes on the bedside table. “If it was high school or something, it’d be different, but I'm not giving up four grand just to see Pippy Longstocking walk across some stage to get a piece of paper,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Ian frowned as he watched Mickey light up. He had never really had to ask Mickey to come along to anything else before, especially not since he’d started living at Mickey’s place. His boyfriend had always just been there, willing to tag along and be supportive. The fact that he had actually _asked_ Mickey to come thistime and that Mickey had said no… well, it hurt.

Ian spent the rest of the week telling himself to chill out. He didn’t need his boyfriend there, holding his fucking hand or whatever. Mickey was right: he couldn’t give up the job just to show up to a silly graduation ceremony. The important thing was that Ian was going to be there for Debbie, to see his sister get her junior high school diploma and finish another chapter of her life.

On Friday morning, he dutifully got dressed and went to the Gallagher house to meet everyone before they headed over to the school together. The auditorium wasn’t as crowded as he’d expected. He and his siblings got a row of seats with a pretty decent view of Debbie.

The principal was already up reading the last names that began with the letter F when there was a loud plop in the chair beside Ian. All of the Gallaghers turned their heads towards the source of the sudden disturbance, including Ian, to see that it was Mickey making all the noise.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mickey muttered, looking away guiltily. He kept his eyes trained on the stage but leaned closer to Ian to whisper, “had to wait for Svetlana to iron Iggy’s shirt,” into his ear.

The sudden comfort he felt at seeing Mickey there washed over him in a wave. He took the cue from Mickey and also forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead. They were just beginning to read the Gs. Debbie’s name would be called any second. He glanced to the side and made sure Fiona and his brothers were looking away before quickly pressing a kiss onto Mickey’s cheek.

“Thanks,” he whispered back to Mickey, just seconds before his sister walked across the stage and shook hands with her principal.


	14. Chapter 14

It felt beyond weird being at Lip's wedding... maybe because Mickey had always expected his sister to be the one to marry Ian's brother. Things hadn't exactly ended well for those two, and even though Mickey hadn't been a fan of Lip back when he and Mandy had dated, he could now admit that there were worse guys in the world – Kenyatta being a prime example.

While Ian was off performing his best man duties – whatever the fuck that meant – Mickey was trying his hardest to not get roped into small talk with the other Gallaghers. He somehow managed to keep to himself throughout the ceremony and even the majority of the reception, due in large part to the numerous cigarette breaks he took.

He didn't know what he would have done if the reception didn't have an open bar. There was just something about weddings that made Mickey feel uneasy. (If he had to guess, he'd say it probably had a lot to do with his _own_ forced wedding.)

Ian gave his cheesy speech and Mickey tipped his bottle back, downing the rest of the beer while everyone else toasted with champagne. Classy, in true Milkovich style.

He got another drink from the bar and was sitting at his table, nursing the cold beer while watching everyone shuffle back and forth on the dance floor when a certain redhead decided to block his view.

"Can I have this dance?" Ian asked, holding a hand out. His cheeks were dimpled and there were small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes from his wide grin.

Mickey scowled at him. "Fuck off," he muttered, batting away Ian's offered hand.

The younger man laughed and sat down in the empty seat beside him. "I had to at least try, right?" he asked, and Mickey couldn't help chuckling.

They sat side by side and stared out at the couples slow dancing nearby. A couple of minutes in, Mickey felt Ian's hand reach for his free one where he was resting it on his knee, concealed by the tablecloth. Ian's fingers slowly slipped in between his own, and once they were completely intertwined, Mickey squeezed Ian's hand – his way of letting his boyfriend know that while dancing may have been out of the question, he still was glad to be there with him.


	15. Chapter 15

Mickey had been in a sour mood for the past two weeks and Ian knew it was all because the Rub and Tug had closed down. Dealing with all of the girls and the added stress of finding alternate sources of income were really weighing him down. He didn't exactly complain about it outright, but Ian wasn't an idiot.

After yet another night of going to sleep next to a cranky boyfriend, Ian decided to do something to cheer Mickey up.

He made sure to take care of Yevgeny during the day so that Svetlana would agree to watching him all night (and letting them sleep in). Then he spent the next hour or so cooking a surprise for Mickey in the kitchen.

When Mickey got home that night, Ian was at the door to greet him. He tried not to act too eager, casually encouraging Mickey to come inside, relax and even take a shower, all the while brushing off the older man's scowls and grumbles.

"Come to the kitchen when you're dry," Ian told him through the closed door. He waited for Mickey's answering grunt to make sure he'd heard him before leaving.

Ian heard the water from the shower shut off when he was thawing the cool-whip. A few minutes later, Mickey begrudgingly joined him in the small kitchen.

"What's gotten into you?" he wondered, eyeing Ian suspiciously.

"I made your favorite," Ian said with a smile, presenting him with two small bowls filled with vanilla pudding and topped with whipped cream.

Mickey's eyebrows knit together. "What are you on?" he asked the redhead. "You know I like Jello, not pudding... and not fucking _vanilla_..."

"Well," Ian began, "I figure if I’m gonna be eating it off of you tonight, it might as well be something _I_ like."

Mickey shook his head with a stifled laugh but Ian was sure he saw the brunet smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is so short. please don't hate me.


	16. Chapter 16

Ian stumbled into the Milkovich house later than usual. Against his better judgment, he'd gone out with some of the guys after work. A couple of hours of drinking, combined with the who-knows-what kind of “meat” that was in those hot dogs they bought off the street vendor left Ian heading straight to the bathroom when he got home.

In hindsight, he knew his whole night had been a series of bad decisions. Why hadn't he just gone home right after his shift had ended? He could have been warm and cozy, arms wrapped around his sleeping boyfriend instead of the cold porcelain bowl.

He was sweating despite it being a cool night, his body fighting back against the things that _shouldn't_ have been in his stomach, and wouldn't be for much longer...

Without warning, the lights were flicked on in the small room and Ian shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness. His headache hadn't quite reached hangover quality yet, but it was getting there. That, and the sloshing around of different alcohols in his stomach made him groan in pain.

“Sorry,” Mickey muttered, immediately turning the lights back off.

Ian realized he must have woken his boyfriend up with all the noise he was making, although he thought he’d been quiet. Perhaps he hadn’t realized how much he’d been moaning. He opened his mouth to apologize but his body chose that second to finally let go of everything making him feel so _wrong_ on the inside.

He managed to lean into the toilet bowl as he puked his guts out, and didn't feel Mickey's hand on his back until he was done. The brunet was kneeling on the floor beside him, rubbing his back with gentle, circular strokes.

Once Ian relaxed, Mickey got up and wet a small washcloth in the sink, then passed it to Ian. He used it to wipe his mouth and gave it back to his boyfriend, who silently rinsed it out and knelt beside him again, wiping the sweat off of his face and using his free hand to tuck the loose strands of copper hair that had fallen into Ian's eyes back behind his ears.

“You don't have to stay,” Ian said, still panting, once he had mustered up some strength. He knew it wasn't over by any means. “It's gross... I'm a mess.”

“It's okay,” Mickey told him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I couldn't sleep anyway.” His words made Ian think of the time when Mickey had admitted to never being able to sleep the same without having Ian there beside him, and he felt even more guilty about going out that night.

The vomiting came in three more bouts. Mickey was there for Ian the entire night, repeating the cycle with the rubbing and the washcloth. He guided Ian into the shower once it was over, supported him while he bathed (despite the younger man’s protests about being able to take care of himself), helped him dry off afterwards and got him into bed, where they _both_ should have been hours ago.

That night, Mickey was the one who wrapped his arms around Ian, and the redhead couldn't remember a time he had been more grateful for having Mickey.


	17. Chapter 17

Seventy-two hours. It didn’t seem like that much when he really thought about it. Mickey told himself it was what Ian needed. They’d get him on some meds and everything would be okay again. No more craziness. It was only three days… but three days without Ian was more than he ever wanted to endure again.

Mickey didn’t go to the hospital with the rest of the Gallaghers to pick up Ian. He was too busy planning out his welcome-home surprise. Granted, it wasn’t exactly _at_ their home, especially since Svetlana decided she didn't want Ian coming back and he couldn't exactly do it at the Gallagher house, but he knew Ian would know the place's significance, and he hoped the gesture would show Ian that they were okay.

He’d once teased Ian about dating Ned. He remembered making fun of them going out on picnics, even though he'd known it wasn't what they really did together. It was ironic that now _he_ was the one planning out a fucking picnic… for his _boyfriend_. What the hell had happened to the old Mickey Milkovich? The one who’d gotten so weirded out by Ian worrying about his future that he’d accused him of wanting to spread out a blanket and look for shooting stars?

Mickey was waiting outside the Gallagher house before they even got back. He hung back at the gate when the others walked in. Lip and Fiona gave him a few angry glares for not going with them to the hospital but he ignored them; Ian was his focus.

“Hey. Welcome back to the real world,” he said with a chuckle.

Ian didn't laugh.

Mickey bit his lip and tried a different approach. “How _are_ you? Do you still feel…” How had Ian described it at the hospital? “... _foggy_?” he wondered.

“Better now,” his boyfriend told him curtly. He was staring at the ground instead of at Mickey.

“Didn’t think you’d be here…” Ian said after a long pause. “Especially not after… you know…”

“Yeah, well… I’m here,” Mickey muttered.

Ian finally looked up and Mickey smirked at him, hoping it would show Ian that he wasn’t still pissed. He needed Ian to realize that. To know that what had happened at the hospital wasn’t going to keep them apart.

“Think mom and dad'll mind if you leave for a bit?” Mickey asked, nodding his head in the direction of the porch, where Ian's siblings were still waiting for him to go inside with them.

Ian shrugged, so Mickey took it as a sign that it wouldn't be a problem.

“You sure you can?”

Ian had _just_ gotten back, after all, and Mickey was more than a little worried about his well-being.

“I'm fine.”

“‘Kay,” Mickey said. He motioned for the redhead to follow him and they started walking off in the direction of the abandoned buildings.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked him after they’d walked a few blocks.

“It's a surprise,” Mickey answered, trying to keep the mystery going as long as possible. He knew Ian would recognize the place sooner or later.

The closer they got, the more nervous Mickey felt. It was so unlike him to plan out something so corny and he didn’t know if Ian would even enjoy it since he obviously had so much on his mind.

Their steps fell in line and they walked quietly, side by side, all the way to the abandoned complex. Despite the recent gentrification kick going on in their neighborhood, no one had gotten around to demolishing the decrepit buildings yet, which worked to Mickey's advantage.

Ian didn't make a comments once he saw the buildings, which worried Mickey even more. For a minute he thought that maybe Ian's only memories of the place were of Mickey beating him in the days after his dad had caught them together...

“You sure you're good?” Mickey questioned Ian again.

His boyfriend huffed in frustration but Mickey held up his hands, signaling that he believed him, and wasn't gonna push it.

Mickey pushed open the heavy metal door and slipped through, then held it open for Ian.

“I don't need your help,” the younger boy muttered with a frown.

“I know you don't,” Mickey told him, letting go of the door. He gave Ian a quizzical look, not sure where his anger was coming from.

As if Ian could read his mind, he looked right at Mickey and frowned. “I'm getting enough babying from Fiona and Lip. I don't need you to treat me like I'm broken too,” he said, visibly grinding his teeth.

Ian easily pushed the door open himself and followed Mickey into the building.

“I know you're not a fucking baby,” Mickey agreed.

He knew Ian was getting control of himself now, but it didn't change the fact that Mickey was concerned about him. His life had changed since he and Ian had become official. He always wanted to protect Ian now, even if his boyfriend didn't necessarily need protecting.

They carefully made their way up the crumbling stairs, all the way up to the roof. There was a long pipe laying across the stairs, just before the landing. “Watch your step,” Mickey said when they got to the top.

He knew he shouldn't have said it the minute the warning slipped out of his lips. He looked back at Ian quickly, ready to apologize, but Ian didn't look upset in the least bit. His eyes were locked on something behind Mickey.

The brunet turned to see what his boyfriend was so focused on and saw that Ian was staring at the little set-up Mickey had prepared earlier that day. He's spread out Ian's old camouflage sleeping bag and had a backpack full of sandwiches and snacks beside it, including a small cooler with ice and a six-pack of beer ready to go.

“Surprise,” Mickey said, a lot less enthusiastically than he'd planned. Now that Ian was here, the whole thing seemed beyond lame. He felt his cheeks warming up, and it wasn't because of the heat of the summer sun. “It's stupid, I know, but–”

Ian interrupted him by pressing their lips together. It took Mickey a second to realize what was happening but then he relaxed and let Ian's tongue continue pushing its way into his mouth. He felt Ian's hand on his neck and lower back, pulling him closer, making sure there was absolutely no gap between their bodies. Seventy-two hours were _way_ too fucking long, Mickey thought.

Ian consumed him to the point where Mickey almost forgot where they were and what was happening. He somehow managed to put a hand up and push back against Ian's chest.

“Hey,” he panted, gasping for air. “Hey. Come on. We have plenty of time for this after we eat.”

Ian grinned and shook his head, then tried to go back in for another kiss.

“Ian,” Mickey breathed. “The food's gonna go bad.”

“It can wait,” Ian told him, pulling him back. Mickey's laugh was muffled against Ian's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry. i hate this one. i spent two days trying to fix it and still don't know what to do... it's so OOC and disjointed and blah. very sorry. but i can't write the next ones until i post this one, so... here. *hides behind blanket*


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> think of this one as a sequel to #16 (“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”)

When Ian woke up the following morning, he was overwhelmed with pain. He grabbed his head and actually winced because of the pressure he felt closing in on him from all different directions. It was the kind of headache that made him feel like his head was literally being crushed. He opened his eyes a sliver and, once he realized their heavy curtains were actually doing their job of keeping the light out, took in the rest of his surroundings.

The clock on the bedside table said it was almost eleven in the morning. He realized he was on the wrong side of the bed and that Mickey was behind him, arms wrapped around his torso, enveloping him in his warmth. Ian suddenly remembered everything that had happened the night before and groaned at the memory of his stupid decisions, the drinking and eating street food, which eventually led to the night of being sick and throwing up… but he also remembered how Mickey had taken care of him all night long, despite how late it had been.

Right on cue, he felt Mickey begin to stir beside him. The brunet gently rubbed his forehead against Ian’s shoulder and let out a soft, satisfied moan before loosening his arms from around the redhead and slowly sitting up.

“Hey,” he said once he saw that Ian was awake. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Ian sighed. At least he didn’t feel like his insides held the contents of the fucking King’s cup. “Headache,” he said, tapping at his brow. “Ouch.”

Mickey laughed softly beside him. “Yeah, I bet it’s ‘ouch,’ you idiot. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He watched as his boyfriend pulled on a t-shirt and left the room, only to return less than a minute later with a mug in his hands.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better,” Mickey told him.

It was dark in their room, but Ian eyed the mug suspiciously. He had never been a fan of drinking raw eggs ‒ not even back when he’d been in hardcore training mode ‒ and he had seen Mickey’s hangover cure of an egg and tabasco in the past.

“Relax. It’s just water,” Mickey said. “I know seeing raw eggs makes you wanna hurl, and I personally think you’ve reached your quota for the month, tough guy” he teased.

Ian felt Mickey’s fingers against his and looked down to see two small Tylenol pills being pushed into his palm.

“I told Svetlana to keep the kid out as long as possible today so that he doesn’t start that crying shit while you sleep this off. Think you can handle some toast?” he wondered.

Ian shook his head and groaned from the motion. No, food would definitely have to wait, as would movements of any kind.

“It’s cool,” Mickey said with a shrug. “Maybe later, after you get some more sleep.” He then proceeded to get back into bed and pulled the blanket up over them, but not before returning his hands to their position around Ian’s body. “We don’t have anywhere else to be.”


	19. Chapter 19

 

Ian was at work when it happened, so he didn’t hear the news until the end of his shift. He saw the missed calls on his phone first, before even playing the message: _“Ian, it’s Mandy. I got a call from the cops saying that Mickey’s been in an accident, but I can’t get through to Iggy or Colin. It’s gonna take me at least ‘til tomorrow to take a bus back to Chicago. Call me when you get this.”_

He called her back and she told him everything the cops had said. Mickey had a car accident; something about spinning out because of black ice on the road. They said the paramedics were taking him to Mercy Hospital, but couldn’t tell her how he was doing. Ian promised to call her with an update as soon as he knew more.

By the time he got to the hospital, visiting hours were well over. The nurse told him he wasn’t allowed in, so he did what any reasonable person would do in that same situation: he swiped an ID card from one of janitors, “borrowed” a pair of scrubs from a nearby supply closet, and found his way into the ICU, where Mickey was being cared for.

Ian was a little overwhelmed when he stepped into Mickey’s room. His boyfriend was asleep on the hospital bed in the middle of the room, covered in layers of white bandages. There was a cast on his leg, a brace holding his neck straight, and half of his face was a dark, ominous-looking shade of purple.

The only sounds in the room came from the machines Mickey was hooked up to: some monotonous beeping thing that monitored his pulse, blood pressure and oxygen levels, as well as another one that Ian guessed was disbursing the morphine through his IV.

Ian walked around to the far side of Mickey’s bed and slowly sank into the chair beside him, being very careful not to make any noise. It was only when he sat down that the real fear set in. Up until that moment, he’d been functioning on pure adrenaline. It had been a simple, step-by-step kind of thing: call Mandy, find out what happened, get to the hospital, find Mickey. Now that he was here and he could see the severity of Mickey’s injuries, the adrenaline was gone, replaced by worry and concern.

Ian couldn’t keep from nervously bouncing his knee, sending little vibrations into the floor and, apparently, into Mickey’s bed. The brunet’s eyes fluttered open, but it took him a moment to take in where he was. His eyes eventually moved to the side and he was able to focus on Ian.

He quickly moved forward in his chair so that Mickey didn’t have to struggle against the neck brace to get a good look at him. He had a shitload of questions that were all fighting to be asked, but what came from his lips first was a soft, simple, “Hey.”

Mickey blinked and sighed. “Lookin’ kinda pale there,” he croaked in a hoarse voice, eyeing the ID that Ian had clipped onto the scrubs.

Ian looked down at the card for the first time and flushed when he realized it showed a picture of a black hospital employee.

“Shit,” he muttered, unclipping the card and quickly stuffing it into his pocket before looking back at his boyfriend.

Mickey’s answering smile was like a ray of sunlight beaming down to the ground after days of nothing but rain. Ian instantly relaxed with the comfort of knowing that, however serious his injuries were, at least Mickey was still up to the task of making jokes and teasing him.

“Mandy’s on her way to Chicago,” Ian said, hoping it would provide Mickey with some kind of comfort. “Did they tell you what happened?” he wondered.

Mickey blinked again, but left his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he told Ian. “I’m gonna be fine. Eventually.”

“Good,” Ian sighed. His boyfriend looked exhausted, and he could tell that talking was a huge effort. He decided to keep his questions to himself for the time being, or wait for Mickey’s doctor to explain what had happened whenever they checked in on him.

Ian settled back in his chair and watched Mickey for a few minutes, listening to the steady beeps from the machine and the scratchy, labored breathing coming from his boyfriend with each rise and fall of his chest. He would bet money on Mickey having broken a rib or two…

Mickey opened one eye and looked at Ian accusingly. “I can feel you staring at me,” he muttered.

A small laugh escaped from Ian and Mickey actually smiled again.

“Can I... hold your hand?” Ian asked tentatively.

He expected Mickey to make another joke or tell him to fuck off, but the brunet turned his wrist to the side and opened his fingers wider. Ian placed his hand inside of Mickey’s, careful not to disturb the IV taped to the other side of it.

Mickey closed his eyes again and quickly fell asleep.

Ian never left his side.


	20. Chapter 20

Ian moved back in with his siblings after his psych hold, which meant that Mickey was at the Gallagher house all the time. Like, _all_ the time.

They were having dinner one night when Sammi complained about the loss of her trailer and the lot next door.

“What about the lot next door?” Ian asked, confused. He’d been out of the loop for a while, after all.

“It’s on the market now,” Sammi explained, filling him in. “So they towed my trailer away when they listed it.”

Debbie rolled her eyes and Ian guessed it wasn’t the first time Sammi had complained about it. “And we have to get rid of the pool too,” his sister added.

“That fucking sucks,” Ian said. “Hey, we should throw one last pool party before taking it down!” he suggested enthusiastically.

The rest of the Gallaghers didn’t seem as excited as he was. Even Mickey only gave him a tight-lipped, half-assed smile in acknowledgment.

“Come on, guys. It’ll be fun,” he tried, looking around for any kind of support from his siblings. He was met with wary looks that told him exactly what they were thinking: another _crazy_ idea from their _crazy_ brother.

“We _have_ had late-night pool parties before,” he muttered, feeling very alone. He felt Mickey’s hand squeeze his knee reassuringly from underneath the table. Well, maybe he wasn’t _entirely_ alone.

“I wanna swim!” Chuckie whined from beside Sammi. “Mom! Let’s swim!”

Carl glanced up at their nephew with mild interest but continued eating dinner. He’d only just gotten his cast off, and Ian was surprised he wasn’t more excited by the prospect of finally swimming again.

“Swim, swim, swim,” Liam eagerly repeated.

At least the younger kids were backing him up. He could work with that.

“See, Fi? They want to swim,” Ian pushed.

“I can call Kev and V and see if they’d be down,” Debbie suggested, looking at Fiona for the go-ahead.

Their older sister looked around the table until she finally sighed. “Alright,” Fiona told them, agreeing, albeit reluctantly, to the demands of her siblings. “One last pool party before the end of summer.”

No one bothered to finish their dinner. The kids ran upstairs to grab their bathing suits and towels with Sammi chasing after them, and Debbie was already on her way over to Kev and V’s to invite them to join in on the fun, despite the fact that she could have just as easily called them. Only Ian, Mickey and Fiona were left at the table.

“I’ll see if Gus wants to come over.” Fiona said, getting up and pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. “You can clean up, since this was your idea,” she called over her shoulder to Ian. He couldn’t really argue the logic there. He got up and started collecting the plates, quietly accepting his fate.

“You’re being unusually quiet,” he said to Mickey, who hadn’t really spoken during the entire meal.

“Got nothin’ to say,” Mickey told him with a shrug, then passed him another stack of dirty plates.

“You’re gonna swim with us, right?” Ian wondered. He hadn’t questioned it at first but Mickey’s expression had him a little worried.

“Nah, we just ate,” his boyfriend reasoned.

“You didn’t even eat that much,” Ian argued, giving Mickey a quizzical look.

“Well, I got no bathing suit,” Mickey said.

“You can borrow mine,” Ian told him.

“Or towel,” Mickey added.

“ _You can borrow mine_ ,” he repeated, not so much offering as insisting. Mickey bit his lip instead of answering.

“What, you’re out of excuses?” Ian teased.

There was more silence from Mickey as they both concentrated on cleaning up.

Ian reached over and grabbed the bowl of unfinished pasta from his boyfriend’s hands, forcing him to stop and look up at him. “You know I _do_ want you here, right?”

Mickey stared at his eyes for a long moment before blinking and looking away. It made Ian feel guilty again for causing him so much heartache. The air was suddenly very thick with all of the tension in the room.

“Well, I do,” Ian whispered, letting go of the bowl. “I always do.”

They resumed cleaning up, the only sounds in the room coming from the thumping of the boys’ feet as they ran around upstairs and from Mickey slowly scraping the pasta out into the Tupperware container.

Ian decided he needed to do something to get Mickey back to acting like himself; he needed to break the serious turn their night had taken.

“Now go and get my bathing suit from upstairs!” Ian ordered, using the dish towel to slap at his boyfriend’s butt. It earned him a scowl from Mickey, which quickly morphed into a grin when he saw how much Ian was laughing. “I have a few pairs in the bottom dresser drawer,” he told Mickey as the brunet headed up the stairs.

“Just wait 'til we’re in the water, Gallagher. You won’t be laughing much longer,” he threatened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short update, i know, but it's something. now we're 1/5 of the way there to "i love you."


	21. Chapter 21

It was rare for the Milkovich house to be empty, and even rarer for Ian and Mickey to both be home at the same time with the house to themselves. As such, they did the only logical thing they could think of in that situation: they fucked like bunnies in every single room and on every single surface they found.

Around midday, they collapsed onto the floor of the living room, utterly exhausted.

“How many times was that?” Ian asked, giggling.

All Mickey could do was shake his head. He’d lost count.

He had to take a couple of deep breathes before he could get his mouth to function the way his brain wanted it to. “That was ridiculous,” Mickey huffed with a laugh, turning his head to the side to get a good look at Ian. “How can you even hold me up like that?”

Ian lifted his arm into the air and made a muscle, showing off his bicep with a grin. “All-American muscle,” he joked before letting his arm fall to the ground with a thud. Apparently flexing was too much effort for him after their last round.

Mickey gently jabbed Ian in his side with his elbow. “Fucking dork,” he teased, smiling at his boyfriend as Ian lazily batted at his arm.

They continued lying there on the ground for a while, completely naked and carefree, neither one quite able to wipe the grin off his face.

“We should try that one you looked up online,” Mickey suggested after a while. His boyfriend had showed him some pictures of a new sexual position that they’d never done before, and Mickey couldn’t hide the fact that he was more than a little intrigued.

“That is… if you’re _up_ for it,” he said to Ian, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he smirked at the redhead.

But instead of replying, Ian was on top of him in lightning speed, and Mickey had no idea how the kid had so much fucking energy. He straddled Mickey with a leg on either side of his hips, pinning Mickey’s arms down above his head despite the brunet not having the strength to even _attempt_ to resist him.

Ian leaned forward, his face just a few inches above Mickey’s. “You might like this,” he whispered to him, before closing the distance and kissing him fiercely, not even letting Mickey ask, “like what?”

Ian pulled back momentarily before moving closer still, pressing his soft, wet lips against Mickey’s cheek, then caressing behind his ear, where he _knew_ that Mickey was the most ticklish.

His kisses sent fire through Mickey’s body, and the brunet fought the urge to buck Ian off of him. “You asshole,” he muttered instead, forcing himself to close his eyes and focus on feeling Ian’s warm body against his, and to enjoy the growing arousal that the friction between them was causing him.

Once they were both hard again, Ian reached over him for the lube and condoms they had tossed onto the couch earlier, but made no indication of moving or changing positions. He was still straddling Mickey, keeping him pinned down, and Mickey was a little confused. Wasn’t the whole point to try different things? Stuff they wouldn’t normally be able to do with his brothers, his kid or his wife at home? It seemed like they were just going to do it missionary again.

Ian must have picked up on his confusion because he smiled down at Mickey with a shrug. “This is still my favorite,” he explained, “because I get to see your face… and kiss you.” True to his word, he leaned forward and passionately kissed Mickey on the lips while simultaneously sliding into him, eliciting a moan from the brunet.

_Yeah_ , Mickey thought as he opened his mouth and let Ian’s tongue play with his own. He _definitely_ liked this one the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might be the dirtiest drabble in the series. sorrynotsorry.


	22. Chapter 22

Mickey sat waiting on the bed as he watched Ian meticulously fold his clothes before placing them into an empty luggage. The redhead paused for a minute, then held out his swimming trunks towards Mickey, as if he was asking whether or not he would need them. Mickey had no idea, so he shrugged. Ian stared at the shorts for a moment longer before he sighed and added them to the pile forming in the corner of the luggage.

He tried to force himself not to fidget, but Mickey couldn’t keep still any longer. He had been quiet all morning, not wanting to say anything that might cause his boyfriend to have a change of heart. His hands itched to _do_ something, so Mickey slowly drew the blanket closer to his thigh and allowed himself to play with the wool at its frayed edge while he continued watching Ian work.

They had been living at the Gallagher house for months. Mickey hadn’t dared suggest leaving; he knew that Ian had needed time to get balanced and adjust to his meds. He knew that Ian had needed the support of every single one of his siblings ‒ to know that they still loved him despite his diagnosis. Ian had needed a stress-free environment, something almost impossible to come by in their neighborhood, but the glares that Svetlana sent Ian’s way every time she saw the redhead were definitely the opposite of stress-free. Aside from constantly reassuring him that Yevgeny was fine, Mickey couldn’t do anything else to alleviate the obvious guilt that Ian still harbored about the baby-napping incident. Staying in the Gallagher house, away from his son, had been the best option for them and for Ian’s recovery...

...but today was the day he and Ian were finally moving back home. It had been Ian’s suggestion, after which they’d had a long discussion about not rushing anything, but Ian had insisted that he was ready. It had taken Mickey every ounce of strength he possessed not to let his excitement show too much. He was supportive of his boyfriend but also knew that things could change in an instant.

“I brought you your towels,” Debbie said from the doorway, holding out the stack to her brother. Mickey had been staring so intently at Ian as he packed that he hadn’t noticed the younger redhead come in.

“Thanks Debs,” Ian told her, accepting the towels with a smile. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“I’m keeping Liam busy downstairs while you pack so he doesn’t get in your way,” she told him. “Lip had an early class and Sammi took Chuckie to the clinic because he hasn’t taken a dump in over a week. Fiona’s in the kitchen cooking you some french toast. I think she thinks that if she shows you what you’ll be missing if you leave, you’ll change your mind,” she told him, shaking her head ever-so-slightly while smiling. Of all the Gallaghers, Debbie had been the most supporting of Ian’s decision to move out again.

“ _When_ I leave,” Ian corrected, matching his sister grin for grin.

“Right,” she said, nodding. “I’ll see you downstairs. Let me know if you need help.”

“Will do,” Ian told her. He turned around to look at Mickey once his sister had gone down the stairs. “You’ll make me french toast, won’t you?” he asked with an expectant smile.

Mickey bit his lip and pretended to consider Ian’s request. “Depends on what I get in exchange for it,” he answered, even though he knew the real answer was that he would do _anything_ for Ian if it made him happy.

His boyfriend huffed out a small laugh. “We can negotiate later,” he told him, closing the dresser drawer and moving on to the closet. Mickey went back to destroying Ian’s blanket.

“Hey,” Ian said, leaning back into the bedroom. “How ‘bout you help me instead of sitting on your lazy ass?” He tossed a flannel shirt at Mickey, who actually managed to catch it, despite being caught off guard.

Twenty minutes later, they had managed to pack all of Ian’s clothes, including his toiletries and medications from the bathroom. Ian sat on top of the luggage to keep everything down while Mickey zipped it with difficulty. He reached for the handle when Ian got off the bag but the redhead beat him to it.

“I got it,” Ian said, brushing Mickey’s hand away.

“Nah man,” Mickey told him, trying to grab the bag out of Ian’s hands. He knew just how heavy the thing was. “Let me carry it.”

“It’s not heavy,” Ian insisted, grunting with the effort of hauling the luggage out of the bedroom and to the stairs. “I’m stronger than I look,” he said to Mickey in response to the brunet’s disapproving frown, giving him a soft, reassuring smile.

Mickey couldn’t explain how he knew that Ian wasn’t just talking about his physical strength. He was trying to tell Mickey that he could handle things now: he was getting better every day, and even though there were still a lot of struggles ahead of him, he could handle them.

He gently put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I know you are,” he told him. “But you’re not alone.”

Mickey leaned down and grabbed the other end of the bag so that they could both carry the luggage down the stairs together. “Besides, if I have to wait for you to do it by yourself, the french toast will get cold,” he teased.

Ian rolled his eyes but accepted the help regardless of Mickey’s terrible joke.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for Claudia. happy 18th birthday!!

Mickey got home later than usual, having spent most of the day working on a new scam with Iggy. It was amazing how easily rich people were willing to part with their money.

He went into his room to change, taking care to be quiet so as not to wake up his boyfriend, but was surprised to see Ian still awake.

“Hey,” the redhead said, looking up from his phone. The light from the screen lit up his face while casting shadows all around the dark room. His voice was hoarse so he cleared it before speaking again. “You’re late…”

“Yeah,” Mickey answered back while removing his shoes and the silly tie he’d had to wear. “Job took longer than planned,” he explained with a shrug.

Ian shifted over in bed and pulled the blanket back at the corner, making space for him.

“Nah, I can’t yet,” Mickey told him, despite wanting nothing more than to get under the warm blanket with Ian and to feel his soft skin press against his own body. “Gotta finish up some stuff with Iggy, then Svetlana wanted me to fix the heater in the baby’s room.”

“I could help,” Ian offered, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.

Mickey smiled at him regretfully. “It’s probably better if you don’t,” he told the younger boy, trying to be as tactful as possible. The truth was that Svetlana had only moved back in with the stipulation that Mickey keep Ian as far away from Yevgeny as possible.

“Oh,” Ian said quietly. Mickey could see the sad understanding in his eyes, even in the dark. “Okay,” he sighed, getting back into bed and leaning back against the headboard.

Mickey bit his lip, feeling utterly guilty. Ian was doing so much better now, and he knew no harm could come to his kid from them fixing a heater together, but he didn’t want to push any limits with his wife if he didn’t have to.

“It could take a while,” Mickey warned, not wanting Ian to stay up any longer than he already had. “It’s late already.”

“That’s okay,” Ian told him with a shrug. “I’m playing Candy Crush. I’ll wait.”

Mickey nodded before closing the bedroom door. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge, then went back to the living room. He passed one of the bottles to Iggy then took a seat on the couch across from his brother. For the next hour, they went through their plan over and over, neither one wanting to fuck anything up. Mickey was still a wanted man, after all.

After everything regarding their scam was settled, he went to the baby’s room with a couple of tools and tinkered with the heater. Svetlana had kept Yevgeny in her bedroom so that he wouldn’t wake up from the noise. He knocked on her door when he was done to let her know that everything was in order, but when he got no reply, he peeked into the room and noted that both mother and child were already asleep.

He was sure that Ian would be sleeping as well, since it was well after midnight, so he decided to take a shower. The hot water was like a drug, magically washing away the stress of his day as it poured down around him. He grudgingly turned the water off, then quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist.

When he opened the bedroom door, he was taken aback by the sight of Ian sitting up in bed, still playing games on his phone.

“You’re not sleeping?” he asked, embarrassed by the fact that he had wasted so much time in the shower.

His boyfriend shook his head and put the phone down on the bedside table, then motioned for Mickey to come closer. The brunet obeyed, and Ian reached for the tucked in corner of the towel that was the only thing holding it in place on Mickey’s hips. He gave it a gentle tug that sent it sliding down to the ground around his feet.

“I said I’d wait,” Ian told him. “I think it was a good choice,” he added with a grin, suddenly pulling Mickey down onto the bed beside him.

“You’re such an asshole,” Mickey huffed.

Both boys laughed as Ian flipped him over and started kissing his neck. Mickey let his eyes close as Ian trailed his lips lower, knowing that his boyfriend could ease his stress better than any stupid shower could.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be read as a sort of sequel to #10, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The frustrating part about their relationship (because they  _were_ officially in one) was that they had started out as fuck-buddies, and Ian wasn’t sure exactly when that had changed. They had definitely become a couple  _way_ before they actually admitted it to each other ‒ not to mention their horrible break-up, which Ian tried to  _never_ think about… but even after all the breaks, they had always just sort of picked things up where they’d left off.

Without an official start-date, it made it impossible to celebrate any kind of anniversary. Ian couldn’t exactly give Mickey flowers and say, “hey, happy three years since you tried to kill me for supposedly messing with your sister,” or, “remember that time exactly a year ago when I was a coked up dancer at the gay club and we made out in front of everyone?” It didn’t seem right.

Sometimes Ian liked to think back on what it had been like in the beginning. He remembered how sleeping with Mickey had completely changed his world: he’d forgotten all about Kash, and the fact that Linda had effectively put a lockdown on their hooking up had actually been a blessing. There had been so much excitement in their secret booty calls and sneaking around.

So many things had threatened to come between them, but they had weathered each and every storm and moved past every obstacle, from Mickey’s dad, to him coming out publicly, from Juvie to Mickey getting shot, then from Ian running away to all the shit that had gone down because of his bipolar disorder…

Each time, they had been drawn back to one another, picking things up again as if nothing had ever stood in the way… which brought Ian back to the sad realization that they had no official anniversary. Even Valentine’s Day had come and gone without them so much as exchanging a shitty chocolate bar.

Part of him felt really like an idiot about what he was debating doing. He and Mickey weren’t the kind of couple that got each other gifts and all that corny stuff. Hell, they hadn’t even gone on a real date until a couple of months ago. They didn’t need to talk about their feelings or anything because they both just _knew_ how the other felt. Despite all of that, Ian couldn’t shake the urge to celebrate their relationship. Stupid or not, he wanted to do something special for Mickey to express how happy he was.

That night, while they sat in the kitchen eating the pizza Mickey had picked up on his way home, Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out the thin box he’d been carrying around with him for the last couple of hours.

“What’s this?” Mickey asked with curiosity, eyeing the box as Ian slid it across the table towards him.

“Got you something,” Ian told him with a smile. He watched as Mickey licked the excess sauce off of his fingers and wiped his hands on his jeans before reaching forward and opening it. The silver lighter was wrapped in a neat little velvet bag within the small box, and Ian didn’t miss Mickey’s smile as it slid out into his palm. In that moment, he knew replacing his boyfriend’s still-missing Zippo had been the right decision.

“What’s this for?” Mickey asked suspiciously.

Ian ignored the question, answering with his own instead. “Don’t you like it?” he wondered.

“Yeah, it’s fucking great… but why? Not like it’s my birthday or anything...”

“Just because,” Ian told him with a shrug, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal or anything. He busied himself with eating another slice and only looked up at Mickey when he heard the brunet begin to chuckle.

“Are you serious?” Mickey said, both eyebrows arched. “Did you actually get someone to write this shit?”

Ian felt himself begin to blush. It hadn’t been easy going to the silver store in the mall to get the lighter engraved, especially when he’d told the clerk what he wanted on it. _“Thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health… all that shit.”_ The old man’s eyes had nearly bugged out when Ian had insisted that he write it down verbatim.

He grinned and nodded to Mickey. “Yeah,” he said with a small laugh.

Mickey’s smile grew as he ran his thumb over the grooved writing. They went back to eating their meal, neither saying much until they had finished. Ian stood to clean up but Mickey shook his head. “How ‘bout I take care of this,” he waved his hand to indicate the paper plates, empty soda cans and the pizza box, “and you go wait in the bedroom.”

“Oh?” Ian asked with surprise. Mickey wasn’t the type to actually clean up; that job was usually left for him. “Really?”

“Yeah… Gotta thank you for the gift, don’t I?” Mickey told him with a dirty grin, eyes twinkling as he stacked the garbage into the box. 

Ian began walking towards the bedroom when he heard Mickey call his name from the kitchen. “Hurry up and get naked,” Mickey ordered. “This shouldn’t take long!”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little filler for 5x10

It was dark when they finally left the dugouts. Ian had only had one beer, but he was a lightweight while on his meds. The way they mixed with alcohol was apparently a big no-no, but he finally felt alive – the most _anything_ he'd felt in a while.

Of course, it helped that Mickey was with him. His boyfriend had had to drink a couple of cans just to get a buzz going, and even though his drunkenness level didn't even match Ian's, they were both happy. Dirty, sore, bloody messes, but happy nevertheless.

The best part about their walk back was how intimate Mickey was being with him. He wasn't ashamed to touch Ian – to hold his hand, to let him put an arm over his shoulder, to steady him as they meandered down the block.

They stopped whenever they passed a quiet alleyway, Mickey pushing Ian up against the wall, grabbing his shirt by the fistful and dragging him down so that they could smash their lips together. His boyfriend's soft mouth and warm tongue burned like fire against his; they were a magical force that he wouldn't have been able to resist, even if he'd wanted to.

“Come on,” Mickey told him, taking his hand and pulling him back to the sidewalk. “It's fucking freezing out.”

Ian just smiled and complied, stumbling a little on his way, but he wasn't worried: Mickey was right there to steady him.

They continued their trek to his house, but Ian was only focused on Mickey... on his eyes that were so blue that he could even see their bright, crystal color by the dim glow of the streetlights, on the blood and grime that covered his face after their afternoon spent fighting and fucking at the dugouts, and, most importantly, on Mickey's smile. He knew that _he_ was the reason for Mickey's current happiness, and that filled him with a feeling akin to pride.

Ian took a step onto the pavement to cross the street when he was suddenly yanked back onto the sidewalk just as a car sped past, missing him by just a couple of inches.

He blinked in surprise, only to look down and realize that Mickey was holding him by his jacket with both hands, staring up at him and sighing with relief. “Look both ways,” he breathed, not yet letting go of Ian.

Ian moved his hands to gently grab hold of Mickey's, coaxing him to release the death grip he had on his coat. “Okay, Mick,” he told him with a smile, his chest swelling with the realization of how worried his boyfriend was. “I'm good,” he assured him.

Mickey still looked shaken, but eased up on his hold enough for Ian to pull away. They crossed the street, Ian laughing all the while, and Mickey’s smile slowly but surely returned. He waited until they were on his block before jumping onto Mickey’s back, making the brunet carry him for the last stretch as they sang “Love is a Battlefield” at the top of their lungs.


	26. Chapter 26

Ian went to the kitchen and got two forks before returning to the living room and plopping down onto the couch beside Mickey. He held one of them out and his boyfriend eagerly grabbed it out of his hand. Mickey used the sharp utensil to slice the tape open on the sides of the bakery box on his lap. With a huge grin on his face, he reached into the box and pulled out a gigantic lemon meringue pie.

“Are you sure you don’t want a plate?” Ian wondered. The billowy meringue on top of the pie ominously jiggled as Mickey lifted it and tossed the box aside.

“What, you feel like washing _more_ dishes?” Mickey shot back, clearly knowing the answer to his question. “It’s just for us anyway,” he reasoned, and Ian shrugged in acceptance.

They proceeded to dig in, starting from the edge and eating forkful after heaping forkful. They worked their way towards the middle of the pie, savoring their special treat. The filling was sweet and tart at the same time; Ian could taste the fresh lemon juice and zest with each bite.

“I told you Weber’s is the best bakery,” Ian said around a mouthful of pie. A piece of the flaky crust accidentally fell from his mouth and rolled down his shirt, but he caught it before it made it to the ground and popped it back into his mouth.

Mickey was eyeing him and Ian noticed him crack a little smile before taking his next bite. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever…” he muttered, and Ian knew it was the closest thing to a concession he would ever get from his boyfriend.

He smiled and went for another forkful of the pie when he felt Mickey give his arm a little shove, sending his nose right into the mound of the fluffy, white topping on his fork.

“What the hell, Mick?” Ian demanded, eyebrows knitting together as he used his finger to spoon the excess topping away and then wiped his face with his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Mickey told him, feigning innocence. “I didn’t mean to.”

Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey’s obvious lie but decided to ignore him. He was obviously just being a sore loser about the pie because it tasted a hundred times better than the one they’d gotten from Mickey’s bakery of choice the previous week.

He cut another piece with his fork, but just as he brought it to his mouth, Mickey jabbed at his thigh with his knee hard enough make him lose his balance and fall back against the couch cushions. It didn’t hurt or anything, but was enough to cause him to once again miss his mouth entirely.

“What is your problem?” Ian growled.

Mickey smirked at him, not even bothering to apologize this time. “It’s just a little pie,” he told him. “No reason to get all prissy about it,” he baited.

Ian scowled at him but that only made Mickey smile more. “It’s not funny,” he muttered as his boyfriend started quietly laughing. “Stop it!” he whined, but couldn’t help smiling back at Mickey’s wicked grin.

“At least get me a fucking napkin or something,” Ian said.

Mickey shook his head, still laughing. “How ‘bout I just clean it for you?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He leaned forward and slid the half-eaten pie down onto the coffee table before turning back to Ian and planting a hand on either side of his face. He carefully licked at the mess he’d single-handedly orchestrated, then pulled back and made a show of savoring the taste of it.

“This tastes much better,” he whispered, shifting so that he was basically straddling Ian’s lap. He leaned closer and licked at Ian’s nose. “Who needs plates when I have your face?” he teased.

Ian let go of the fork he was still holding, not caring where it ended up; he didn’t even register the clink as it dropped to the floor. He reached around Mickey and grabbed him by his waist, sighing as the brunet ground his ass down on him while still licking at the pie.

Ian turned his head ever-so-slightly, bringing his lips in line with Mickey’s. “You’re a fucking dick,” he breathed, pressing his mouth to his boyfriend’s.

Mickey huffed out a laugh against Ian’s lips but didn’t pull away. He moaned in the affirmative and slid his warm, sugary-tasting tongue into Ian’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what happens when i try to write while eating delicious pie. sorry not sorry.


	27. Chapter 27

Mickey was standing at the stove in the kitchen, stirring the contents of the pot slowly, worrying his lip the entire time. The night before, he’d brought home pizza, and something about Ian’s expression had rubbed him the wrong way. All he had to do was look at his boyfriend’s face to see the words _take-out, again?_ etched there. So despite the fact that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, Mickey was attempting to cook dinner… and probably failing miserably at it.

He’d decided to make chili, since he knew it was something they both liked, and could make enough of it in one go to last a few of days. Well, maybe two days, if his brothers got a hold of it… Problem was, he had no recipe to work off of. He’d decided what he wanted to include (beef, red kidney beans, peppers, onions and tomatoes) and had just thrown them all into the pot after browning the beef. After adding some tomato sauce, chili powder and water, he’d put the cover on and hoped for the best.

That had been hours ago, but now that he was finally checking on it, he realized he probably should have sautéed the veggies or something. The onions and peppers were still kind of crispy when he bit into them, and he’d been aiming for a more _mushy_ consistency. He looked at the clock and bit his lip again. Ian would be home in an hour and their meal was nowhere near being ready. In a last-ditch effort to make it work, he turned the flame up, slammed the pot’s lid back on and stormed into the bedroom.

Almost an hour later, Mickey was checking on the chili again when he got a text from Ian saying he would be a little late. He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, silently thanking whichever higher being was responsible for his good luck. Turning the heat up had been a good decision: the veggies were _almost_ there. An extra half hour would make them just right.

Mickey had just enough time to jump into the shower and get dressed before Gallagher got home. He didn’t even hear Ian come in because he was so busy checking on the fucking dinner.

“I don’t know what smells better,” he heard Ian say into his ear, just as the tall redhead wrapped his arms around him. “You, or whatever you have going on here,” Ian said, pointing at the pot on the stovetop with a quick nod. He then rested his chin on Mickey’s shoulder and took a deep inhale, humming out in appreciation on the exhale.

“Thought it was time for a change,” Mickey explained quickly. Not wanting Ian to see him blush, he busied himself with stirring the chili again. Ian gently stroked his belly while they stood there in the kitchen, and if Mickey let his eyes close for a minute while he relished the feeling of being held by his boyfriend, no one could really fault him for it.

He eventually took a small spoonful out and blew on it before taking a quick taste. It needed more salt. He reached for the box of salt at the edge of the counter, a task made difficult by the fact that Ian was still hanging onto him. “Do you mind?” Mickey asked, looking back at his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow.

“Actually, I do,” Ian teased, hugging Mickey tighter. He lifted his head off of Mickey’s shoulder but still kept both arms wrapped around him.

Mickey shook his head but bit back a grin as he stretched for the salt. He eyeballed a teaspoon or so into the pot and mixed it in, then took another taste. _Much better_ , he thought. Just to be sure, he brought another spoonful up and blew on it gently until he felt like it was a safe, non-scalding temperature.

“Here,” he said, twisting the top half of his body around to face Ian. “Try some.”

Ian obliged, turning his head to get a better spoon-to-mouth angle. He still ended up having a dribble of the sauce drip down from the corner of his lips, but Mickey estimated that at least ninety-five percent of the spoonful had actually gone into his mouth. He waited nervously for Ian’s reaction.

The bastard took his sweet-ass time, sticking out his tongue and lapping at the liquid in the corner there as if he was savoring every last drop. Mickey’s back was starting to hurt from the strange way he was standing, turned at the waist. “Well?” he pushed.

“I don’t know…” Ian began. “Maybe you should give me another bite, just to be sure?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey huffed, turning back to face the stove. He hastily shut the flame off and tossed the wooden spoon into the pot with the rest of the chili, but he was grinning, satisfied with Ian’s response. He somehow managed to wriggle out of Ian’s hold, and, as he walked to get two bowls out of the cabinet, he saw that Ian was grinning too.

So, his attempt at cooking hadn’t been a disaster after all. He looked back at Ian again and saw that his boyfriend was leaning down towards the pot, using the wooden spoon to take another bite of the chili. Mission: accomplished.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is dedicated to mapofeighteen/sam! happy belated birthday!

Ian answered his phone on the first ring without actually checking the screen to see who was calling. “Hello?” he grunted, throat dry from the lack of humidity in their bedroom.

“Hi Ian. Are you still sleeping?”

Ian rubbed at his eyes before opening them.  “Hey Debs,” he whispered. “Hold on a sec.” He carefully sat up, making an effort not to jostle Mickey, before scooting towards the foot of the bed.

“What’s up?” he asked her quietly.

“It’s Sunday,” she told him impatiently, as if that explained why she was calling him so early.

“...and?” he prompted.

“ _And,_ it’s _Sunday_ ,” she said, and he could imagine her shaking her head at him disapprovingly. “Carl’s birthday…” she huffed. “You’re still coming with me to visit him in Juvie, right?”

Ian ran his free hand down his face. “Carl’s Birthday. Sunday. Juvie. Right.”

“So you’ll pick me up, right?” she pressed.

He looked over his shoulder at his boyfriend who was still asleep in their bed. Mickey’s pale skin was illuminated in a striped pattern by the streaks of light that shone in through their blinds, and his chest was slowly rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He looked so calm… so peaceful. Ian hated the idea of ruining that.

“Yeah Debs. Gimme half an hour,” he told her with a frown she wouldn’t be able to see.

He closed the phone then turned around to look at Mickey again. He would need to wake him up to ask him to borrow the car, but Mickey had been wary of letting Ian drive ever since the Yevgeny-knapping incident. It was stupid and Ian knew that Mickey knew he was sorry, but it didn’t change the fact that there was this weird no-using-the-car policy that existed in the house. Ian knew it was gonna take some convincing.

He reached for the bedsheet and slowly pulled it aside, then crawled up the bed so that he was hovering above Mickey, legs on either side of him. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Mickey’s temple. The brunet flinched a tiny bit but settled down quickly, so Ian tried again, this time kissing just at the edge of Mickey’s jaw.

Mickey grunted something unintelligible, raising a hand up so as to swat at the source of the annoyance. Ian snorted in an effort to hold in his laugher, which must have been louder than he thought because Mickey furrowed his brow at the sound.

Instead of kissing Mickey again, Ian stuck his tongue out and licked at the corner of his boyfriend’s lips. He felt Mickey’s lips curve into a smile.

“You’re up,” Ian whispered, also smiling, then kissed Mickey gently on his lips.

Mickey deepened their kiss, only opening his eyes when Ian pulled away. He stared up at Ian, groaning in frustration.

“The question is, _why_ the fuck am I up? I thought we were gonna sleep in today…” he complained.

“It’s Carl’s birthday,” Ian told him.

“Won’t it still be his birthday in a few hours?” Mickey griped.

“Debbie wants to go visit him in Juvie…” Ian began, “...and I need to borrow the car...”

He watched Mickey’s face as he said the last part, carefully gauging his boyfriend’s reaction

Mickey frowned then started chewing on his bottom lip without looking Ian in the eye.

“Or you could drive us,” Ian suggested quickly, staving off the outright rejection he was expecting based on Mickey’s expression.

“Hah! Ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m willingly going back there,” Mickey barked.

“How ‘bout a trade then?” Ian offered, grinning.

Mickey raised his eyebrows in question. “Trade?”

“Yeah, something in exchange for you letting me use the car for the day,” Ian explained. At Mickey’s puzzled look, Ian sighed and rolled his eyes. He thought he was being forward enough, but sometimes Mickey needed help seeing the obvious. He slid his fingers down his boyfriend’s bare chest, from the dip between his pecs, past his abs, to rest on Mickey’s boxers, cupping his semi-hard cock. He waited for Mickey to catch on, and knew he’d gotten it when he saw his eyebrows knit together.

“What are you now, Svetlana?” he accused, but Ian could tell it wasn’t said with malice. He laughed it off, shaking his head slightly.

“We both know you’ll say okay eventually,” he said to Mickey with much more confidence than he actually had. “This will just speed up the process.”

Not waiting for an answer, he started kissing a trail down the same path his fingers had taken until he reached Mickey’s boxers. He mouthed at Mickey’s dick, feeling it grow through his now-damp underwear.

“This feels wrong...” Mickey started.

Ian stopped and looked up at his boyfriend, surprised. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, but when Mickey grinned and pushed his own boxers down, he knew his boyfriend’s answer.

Twenty minutes later, Ian was dressed and had the car keys in hand.

“Drive safely, alright?” Mickey called from where he still lay sprawled on their bed.

Ian walked over to the bed. “I will,” he said gratefully before he leaned down, giving Mickey one more long kiss on the lips.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one, to get back into the groove

People always complain about Chicago being “the windy city.” The winters are shit, sometimes so fucking cold that you don’t even want to leave the house. No one ever realizes how miserable the weather gets in the dead of summer. The humidity and the heat make a disgusting combination, one that makes Mickey wish he could move to Canada or some shit. And even though everyone and their brother had the AC on, all he had was the shitty window fan Ian had installed for them, blowing hot air into the room.

They were in bed, naked limbs half-covered by a thin sheet, when Ian decided to plop his stupid, grinning face onto Mickey’s sweaty chest. “Wanna watch a movie?” he asked.

The brunet groaned and carefully peeled his boyfriend’s head off of him. If Ian thought Mickey was going to get up and move away from the minimal breeze of their fan to put on clothes and go into the stale air of the living room, he was out of his fucking mind.

Ian frowned for the tiniest second before his face brightened up again. “We could fuck again,” he suggested, eyes twinkling. “You up for another round?”

Mickey glared at him because it was way too hot for any more physical contact. He didn’t even need to say anything; Ian quickly got the hint.

“What if we go to my house?” he tried. “Lip just fixed the AC there!”

“And hang out with your siblings?” Mickey shot back with a scowl. Ian knew perfectly well that he and Fiona weren’t on the best of terms since his release. The last thing he wanted to do was spend more time with her judgmental ass.

“Too bad those dykes made you get rid of the pool,” he complained.

Ian pursed his lips but kept his reply to himself. He propped himself up on his elbow and sighed, forcing Mickey to turn to the side and look at him. When he did, Ian put a soft, warm hand on his arm and gave him that same winsome look he always did when they were together.  It was clear that his boyfriend was bored.

“Well, what do you want to do?” the redhead asked.

Mickey loved the fact that Ian wanted to do something _with_ him. He could have gone home at any time, and Mickey wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d chosen to flee to the comfort of the Gallaghers’ air conditioning.

He thought about his options. “Bangin’ doesn’t sounds so bad,” he said, and saw the grin grow on Ian’s face again. “But not here,” he added.

Ian knit his eyebrows together in confusion. “Not here?” he wondered.

Mickey shook his head. “Shower. Now,” he ordered.

The redhead practically leapt off the bed and beelined to the bathroom. Mickey was right on his heels, grabbing his ass along the way.


	30. Chapter 30

Ian had been doing something on his phone when Mickey passed out beside him, but when he woke up to take a piss a couple of hours later, the redhead was still at it.

He rolled out of their bed and groggily wobbled towards the bathroom, the glow from Ian's phone lighting up not only his boyfriend's face but the rest of their small room as well.

Mickey shot him an annoyed scowl as he walked back to the bed from the bathroom, but the look went completely unnoticed by his boyfriend. He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the light was annoying now that he was more awake and a lot less tired than earlier that night.

He hated to admit it, but Mickey had trouble falling asleep when he couldn't feel the redhead's body behind him, lanky limbs wrapped around his own.

“What the hell are you doing on that thing?” Mickey huffed.

“Hmm?”

“It's the middle of the night, man,” Mickey complained. “Some of us want to sleep.”

Ian finally tore his eyes away from the screen. “Oh, sorry,” he muttered, looking at Mickey guiltily. “It's this story that Debbie sent me. I can't stop,” he explained.

“Since when do you fucking read?” Mickey wondered.

“I don't,” Ian told him, but at seeing Mickey's pointed expression, he blushed. “It's Avengers fanfiction,” he admitted, cheeks going red.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at seeing Ian's embarrassment.

“Oh?”

“Captain America and the Winter Soldier are more than just old friends, if you catch my drift,” he told him.

“Everyone knows that,” Mickey said, stifling a yawn. He'd seen the movies with Ian (bootlegs, granted, but he'd seen them nevertheless) and knew that only an idiot would miss the subtext there.

“Aren't you tired?” he wondered.

“I'll dim the screen,” Ian said by way deflecting the question, then swiped at his phone until the light from it darkened. “Better?” he asked Mickey.

The brunet scowled. “No, not fucking better… What would be better would be you turning that thing off and putting your arms around me,” he muttered, subconsciously jutting his chin forward.

Ian frowned, obviously not wanting to stop. “But they're finally talking to each other again,” he said, almost whining. “ _Really_ talking…”

“Fine,” Mickey groaned. He supposed he could wait a while longer, if it meant going to sleep with his boyfriend's arms around him. “One more chapter,” he said, voice firm.

“Okay, one more,” Ian agreed, grinning like the dork he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one, sorry. wrote it when i woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep...


	31. Chapter 31

Mickey felt like absolute crap. His nose was running like a faucet and he’d already gone through a whole box of tissues. On top of that, he had the ultimate headache and was freezing, despite the fact that he’d dragged out Ian’s old sleeping bag to put on top of his blanket.

He was home alone and didn’t even have the energy to get up and get any medicine. He was pathetic.

He looked at the clock, counting down the hours until Ian would get back from work. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, the bed was dipping with the added weight of the redhead.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” his boyfriend asked, concern etched on his face.

“Sick,” Mickey begrudgingly admitted.

Ian’s frown deepened. “But you were fine when I left…” he said, voice trailing.

Mickey attempted to shrug but the movement was lost when his body started shivering of its own accord.

Ian put a hand to his forehead. “You have a fever. Did you take anything?”

Mickey shook his head, the movement causing his head to being throbbing again.

“Wait here,” Ian said, as if Mickey was in any shape to get up and go anywhere. Mickey would have teased him about the comment if not for the overwhelming desire to curl into a ball under the blanket.

Ian returned with a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol. “This’ll help with the fever,” he told Mickey, helping the brunet sit up. Mickey swallowed the pills down without touching the water, ignoring Ian’s face of disgust.

“What else can I do?” Ian wondered, putting the glass down on the bedside table.

“Don’t worry about me,” Mickey gritted out. He sniffled, then wiped at his nose with the toilet paper he was using as a substitute for Kleenex.

Ian laughed at him. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” he muttered.

He took his clothes off and tossed them in the general direction of the dresser. “Move over,” he said to Mickey, then got into bed behind him. He wrapped his arms around him to stifle his shivers.

“I always worry about you,” Ian whispered to Mickey, brushing his fingers through Mickey’s sweat-soaked hair, and Mickey instantly relaxed, comforted by his boyfriend’s warm body beside his.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for purposes of this fic/'verse, i am ignoring the fact that mickey is supposedly in prison in s6. sue me.

Ian pressed his lips together in a thin, white line as he fastened the buttons of his navy jumpsuit. He’d just gotten a job as a janitor, and even though he was grateful not to be working at the diner anymore, he couldn’t help but cringe as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The uniform was _way_ too big on him and reeked despite the fact that he had washed it twice now. It was hard to believe that anything could be loose on him, considering that he was the tallest one in his family. He folded a sleeve up and frowned.

“Oh come on,” Mickey said from the doorway of the bedroom. “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Ian turned, not having noticed his boyfriend standing there. Even though seeing Mickey made him happy, he couldn’t bring himself to smile at him in that moment, mind too preoccupied.

“Look at this,” he said, holding the arm with the unfolded sleeve up to show the shorter man how ridiculous it was.

Mickey walked over and helped him roll up that side to match the other one. “There, you big baby,” he teased.

Ian sighed. “They wouldn’t even give me a new one,” he complained, staring dejectedly at the nametag that read “Dav”, the name of the previous janitor.

Mickey closed a button that Ian had missed and held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. He turned Ian around so that they were both looking at his reflection in the mirror. “It looks good on you,” Mickey told him, quickly patting him on his butt. “Brings out your curves,” he added, grinning sheepishly.

They both knew that it was total bullshit. Ian rolled his eyes. “You think everything looks good on me,” he said. “It only figures that you’d like this dirty thing too,” he muttered glumly, pulling the loose garment away from him by the useless zippered pockets at its front.

“Maybe,” Mickey admitted. “But I’m not gonna lie: it'll look better when I'm ripping it _off_ of you..." he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and flashing Ian a big smirk.

Ian laughed, finally cracking a smile, cheeks turning slightly red. “Maybe when I finish my shift,” he said.

“How ‘bout right now?” Mickey countered, then pushed his boyfriend onto the bed without warning.

They wrestled, both trying to gain an upper hand. “I’m gonna be late for my first day,” Ian gritted out, trying to get out from under Mickey’s hold.

“Tell them you were waiting for your uniform to get out of the dryer,” he said, pinning Ian’s hands to the bed.

Ian always marveled at Mickey’s strength, especially when it came to wrestling. He never forgot how it had felt fighting with him that first time, the feeling of Mickey on top of him, holding him down with all of his weight. He wasn’t what people would imagine a good fighter to look like, but he sure as well was scrappy.

Ian gave up struggling and stretched his neck up until his lips reached Mickey’s. The shorter man kissed him right back, opening his mouth to let their tongues continue the battle to dominate. As expected, Mickey loosened his grip on Ian’s hands as their kiss deepened, and Ian used the opportunity to catch Mickey off guard and flip him over onto his back. He kissed him hard once more before quickly jumping back off the bed so that Mickey couldn’t grab him and pull him back.

“When I get back home,” Ian said. He was breathing heavily, almost panting from the effort of their little tussle. His body was hot, not just from the exertion, but also from how quickly Mickey had gotten him turned on. “Promise,” he said, hating how hard it felt to tear himself away from his boyfriend.

“Yeah, you better fuckin’ promise,” Mickey grumbled, rubbing at his own erection.

Ian chuckled as he left the bedroom, all loathing of the navy jumpsuit forgotten.


	33. Chapter 33

Mickey had been waiting for the mailman to come for a couple of hours. He didn’t usually give a shit about the mail since the only things that he ever got were bills and stupid credit card offers, but he knew he was getting a package and he didn’t want anyone else putting their grubby hands on it. All he needed was for his sister or one of his brothers ‒ or better yet, his fucking wife ‒ to intercept it, and he’d never hear the end of it.

He couldn’t even count how many episodes of Family Feud he’d watched in a row while waiting in the living room before finally hearing the tell-tale creak of their rusty mailbox. He dashed to the door, grabbed the nondescript brown box from outside and quickly slipped back into his room, ignoring the quizzical look on Mandy’s face from where she stood cooking mac n’ cheese in the kitchen.

Ian was in bed, still sleeping after working another late shift. Mickey carefully sat on his side of the bed and quietly opened the box. He must not have been as quiet as he thought he was being because Ian stirred beside him before he could even open it.

“Hey,” he groaned, slowly opening his eyes.

“Sorry,” Mickey said, cringing from the sound of the tape as he ripped it off the top of the package.

“S’fine,” Ian told him, checking the time on his phone. “I shouldn’t be sleeping this late anyway…” He wiped at his eyes, then sat up and looked over to see what Mickey was doing.

“What’s that?” he wondered, eye perking open with curiosity.

Mickey turned to face Ian and couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend’s absolutely ridiculous bed-head. “Got you something,” he admitted.

Ian’s eyebrows rose an inch up his forehead, and he cocked his head to the side. “You did?”

Mickey nodded.

“You gonna tell me what?” Ian pressed.

He shook his head, loving keeping Ian in the dark about his gift.

“So you’re gonna make me beg for something when I don’t even know what it is or what it’s for?” he accused, feigning offense.

Mickey smirked, then said, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“ _Really_?” Ian asked, laughing.

“You want it or not?”

Ian shrugged and started scooting to the middle of the bed. Mickey eyed him as Ian sat on his knees and humored his boyfriend, closing his eyes and holding his hands out.

He rushed to the package, an easy feat now that he didn’t have to worry about being quiet about it.

Ian was smiling in anticipation, and Mickey couldn’t wait to see what would happened when the younger man realized what was going on. Without hesitation, he took the bright green, fuzzy handcuffs out of the box and locked them around Ian’s outstretched wrists.

Ian’s eyes shot open when he heard the click of the cuffs. “What…” he started, mouth agape.

“Guess you’re my bitch today,” Mickey said, trying to keep the giddiness out of his voice.

Ian was still speechless. “I… what? I just... Wait…” He managed to close his mouth but his brow was still furrowed in confusion. “But don’t you have _real_ handcuffs?”

Mickey was the one to laugh now. “Of all the things you could ask, _that’s_ what you settle on?” he said, shaking his head. “These are fuzzy, man. They won’t hurt your wrists,” he told him, as if it was obvious.

“Awe, you care about hurting me?” Ian teased.

“Shut up,” Mickey scoffed.

Ian pulled his arms apart, testing the strength of the cuffs. Mickey felt satisfied when Ian sighed in defeat. “I guess I don’t really have a choice in this?”

Mickey grinned. “You always have a choice,” he told him. “I mean, you can choose to lie down and suck my cock, or get on your knees and do it,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

Ian looked down and huffed out a laugh, smiling when he looked up at Mickey through his eyelashes. He licked his lips and Mickey palmed at his hard-on through his sweatpants.

“Alright,” Ian nodded, still laughing. “I’ll lie down.”

“Good choice,” Mickey agreed, grabbing the short chain connecting the handcuffs and pulling on it to help guide the redhead back down onto his pillow.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to lollesy for sending me her beautiful gallavich art to help me find some writing inspiration. This update took way too long to make, and it isn’t even anything special, but it’s a start, right? Proof that I’m still in the Gallavich fandom, I suppose. :)

When Mickey got home from a long, boring day at work, all he wanted to do was veg out in front of the TV and watch shitty reality shows until his eyes started bleeding. Luckily for him, Ian was completely on board with his plan. Mickey toed his wet boots off, tossed his heavy coat onto the pile of everyone else’s shit by the door, grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge and plopped down onto the couch beside his boyfriend.

It had begun snowing outside, the wind whistling through the narrow alleyways between the houses on their block. Colin and Iggy were being loud and obnoxious in the dining room, while Svetlana paced around with Yevgeny in an attempt to rock him to sleep, but none of that mattered as Mickey shifted closer to Ian, who in turn lifted his arm and placed it around his shoulders, drawing him in even closer.

He tried to relax, tried to shut everything off and just focus on feeling Ian’s warmth beside him, the comfort of his regular breaths as they watched TV, but it wasn’t working.

“Your head’s still at work, isn’t it?” Ian asked him after a while, nudging Mickey’s knee gently with his own.

Mickey slowly took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m not cut out for this nine to five shit,” he complained, voice low and grumbling. “You ever imagine me having a ‘respectable’ job?” he asked, making silly air-quotes with his fingers to emphasize the word “respectable” and sneering as he did so.

Ian chuckled softly while shaking his head. “No, not really,” he admitted, grinning like a dork. Mickey couldn’t help but smile back, always feeling more at ease around his boyfriend.

“What can I do?” Ian asked him.

Mickey turned his head to look at him, smirking as he asked, “How ‘bout a blowjob?”

Ian laughed and his whole body shook from the action. “I think I have something better…” he said.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, because what could be better than a blowjob from Ian? He watched as his boyfriend leaned forward and reached into the pocket of his backpack, drawing out a small bag of weed and a cigar. “Got you a present,” he explained, holding it out for Mickey to see.

Mickey licked his lips in anticipation but felt a little wary. “What’s the occasion?” he wondered, knowing Ian kept his drinking and smoking to a minimum these days to interfere with his meds.

“You’ve been stressed a lot longer than _one_ day, Mick,” Ian explained, looking at him knowingly.

Grinning, Mickey eagerly took the cigar and opened the wrapper to start prepping the blunt when Iggy reached over his shoulder and grabbed the dime bag right out of Ian’s palm. He darted through the kitchen and both he and Colin were out the back door before Mickey and Ian could even react.

Svetlana rolled her eyes and went back into her room with a finally-calm Yevgeny while Mickey stared, open-mouthed, in the direction his brothers had disappeared to. “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ them,” he snarled. He started getting up to chase after them but Ian put a hand on Mickey’s thigh and held tight, forcing him to sit back down.

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

“It’s not fucking fine!” Mickey yelled back, almost whining. He felt frustrated, but at the same time too stressed out and tired to properly react to the situation. The fact that Ian didn’t seem properly angered by Iggy’s dick move was also pissing him off, and he couldn’t keep the scowl off his face when he glared at his boyfriend.

“Really,” Ian insisted. “That’s okay,” he said, leaning forward again and pulling out another baggie from his backpack, like he was fucking Santa Claus or some shit. “I bought two.”

“You…” Mickey trailed.

“...bought _two_ ,” Ian repeated, teeth flashing. “Don’t look at me like that,” he told him, and Mickey realized he was still scowling. He pushed the expression off his face while Ian went on like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re acting like I don’t _know_ you, Mick,” he teased.

And really, Mickey knew he was stupid for even questioning it. Of course Ian had picked up on his mood and had planned on helping him out, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he had specifically bought _two_ dime bags instead of a 20 sac, because he knew that Mickey had no control when it came to pacing himself.

“And don’t forget, you’ve been stealing Iggy’s jello cups for the last month,” he reasoned.  
“Good point,” Mickey conceded.


	35. Chapter 35

Ian pulled himself over the top of the fence and jumped down, bending his knees as he hit the ground in order to absorb the impact. Mickey was already walking towards the building, so he had to run to catch up.

“Explain to me again what we’re doing here?” he asked, looking sidelong at Mickey while eyeing the creepy building before them. It looked like the kind of place a horror movie would happen in. Kids sneak in looking for ghosts and actually find them. _Wonderful._

He heard Mickey huff out in frustration, even though he didn’t bother stopping. “Aren’t _you_ the one always complaining that we never get any privacy?”

“Yeah…” Ian carefully answered, still not getting it.

“Well? It’s perfect,” Mickey told him.

“It’s an abandoned hospital, Mick,” he argued.

“But I bet it’s got a shitload of empty beds,” Mickey said, laughing.

He picked up the pace and Ian was left in his wake, staring at the hospital and hoping those empty beds didn’t have rotting corpses in them.

“Are you _sure_ you wanna do this?” Ian asked, keeping his voice low while leaning against the wall. Beside him, Mickey was running his fingers along the edges of a window, presumably looking for some kind of latch. He didn’t bother asking Mickey why there would be a latch on the _outside_ of a window, choosing instead to use the time to convince him what a _bad_ idea he thought it was. “This isn’t exactly the sexiest place we can fuck,” he reasoned. “And it looks so… _dirty_ ,” he said, for lack of a better word.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Mickey accused, finally giving up looking for an easy way in. Ian watched as he wrapped his hand in his sweater and punched a hole into the bottom right corner of the window, just like he expected. What they both weren’t expecting was for an alarm to go off.

“An alarm? Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey said, rolling his eyes.

“You didn’t check if there was an alarm?” Ian yelled over his shoulder as they high-tailed it back towards the gate.

“This place has been abandoned for years! Why the fuck would there be an alarm?”

They made it to the fence but Ian could already hear police sirens in the distance. Mickey locked his hands together and held them out for Ian. “After you,” he said nodding his head towards the fence.  
  
Ian only hesitated for a moment before he took the offered step up and climbed to the top, then reached an arm down to grab Mickey and help pull him up over the edge as well. They jumped down simultaneously and ran like hell away from the hospital, leaving Mickey’s failed attempt at a romantic night to themselves behind them. Ian wasn’t even the slightest bit upset; the way Mickey had made sure to help him get away before saving his own ass was all the romance Ian needed.


	36. Chapter 36

Ian sat behind the glass, waiting for Mickey to come and sit across from him. It had been a year since the last time he’d visited the prison, and in that time, a lot of shit had happened… Too much shit for him to deal with alone.

Mickey came in a few minutes later and sat down, a little hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure what the hell Ian was even doing there. Mickey’s eyes kept searching the room behind him. Ian felt a pang of guilt as he remembered his admission to Mickey about Svetlana paying him to come to the previous visit, and he realized that Mickey probably thought the same thing had happened this time around.

He waited for Mickey to pick up the phone but didn’t give him a chance to say anything. He had come there for a reason; he wanted to tell Mickey about the shit-show his life had become, to talk to the only person who had ever really cared about him, so he quickly blurted out, “I fucked up,” as soon as he put the receiver to his ear. It wasn’t what he’d planned on saying, but it was the truth.

Mickey looked up at Ian, eyes studying his face for more details, but he chose not to ask, not to push. Ian knew this, knew that Mickey’s go-to, even when they’d been teenagers who casually fucked, had always been to feign disinterest until Ian spit out whatever was on his mind.

“I shouldn’t have…” he began. _I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I shouldn’t have stopped visiting. I shouldn’t have thrown away what we had._

He didn’t say any of those things.

“I didn’t…” he tried again. _I didn’t mean any of the stupid shit I did… shit I said. I didn’t know I was being an idiot. I didn’t mean any of it._

He couldn’t get anything out. Why was it so hot in there?

“I wasn’t…” he croaked. _I wasn’t on my meds. I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t thinking straight._

He swallowed hard, wiped at his brow with the back of his hand. He looked up at Mickey and finally met his gaze. “I’m… sorry,” he said, despite knowing it wasn’t enough. He was fully aware that two little words would never make up for the asshole he’d been.

Mickey blinked slowly, deliberately. He cleared his throat, and Ian saw the strain on his face, like he was working hard to not react, not show weakness. Ian knew Mickey had made himself vulnerable for him in the past, and Ian had gone and fucked it all up. What would make this time any different? He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at Mickey’s.

He’d come this far, and needed to show Mickey that this wasn’t just some trick. He carefully put his hand up to the glass, never looking away, never breaking eye contact, and his heart pounded in his chest so hard that he was surprised it hadn’t given up on him yet, the way he’d given up on Mickey.

“Everything’s so fucked,” he said, feeling the defeat settle in, its weight making it hard for him to breath. “I don’t… I don’t know why I’m here,” he admitted, because really, what had he been expecting Mickey to do from behind bars?

Then, to his relief, Mickey slowly moved his own hand closer and met Ian’s, fingers filling the matching space on the opposite side of the glass. Ian wished he could feel more than the cold, hard glass against his skin; he missed the feeling of Mickey’s rough fingers on his body, missed the heat of them where they touched his own.

“It’s okay,” Mickey whispered. “We’ll figure it out.”

Ian laughed because it was all he could do to keep himself from crying. “We’ll figure it out? Are you fucking kidding me?” He sounded hysterical ‒ he _knew_ it even as the words left his lips.

“Yeah. We’ll figure it out. Tell me what happened; start from the beginning.”

Ian stared at him and the minutes passed silently while he thought about all the things that had happened to him and his family while he’d tried to convince himself that Mickey wasn’t a part of his life anymore.

He exhaled. “Okay. From the beginning,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i don't even know. this one made me so sad. they could have figured it out... ugh. what am i doing?


	37. Chapter 37

“Get dressed. We’re going sledding,” Mickey ordered as soon as he got home. Ian had been napping, so he made a face and sat up in bed, wiping at the sleep in his eyes. Mickey only briefly considered changing his mind, knowing how good it would be to take off his clothes and sidle up beside his boyfriend. He was tempted by how comfortable he would feel once Ian lifted his arm and enveloped him in his warmth, but he had his mind set on sledding and wasn’t going to let the temptation of spending the rest of the day lazing away in bed stop him.

“Uh… What?” Ian ask groggily, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s February and we haven’t gone sledding, so we’re going,” he explained, not mentioning how he thought it would be a great idea for them to do it together. Valentine’s Day was far enough that Ian wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He also conveniently left out that it was something he hadn’t done since he was a kid.

“Can we do it tomorrow?” Ian asked, but his face fell when he looked at Mickey and apparently saw his determined expression. “Fine,” he sighed, resignation in his voice. “I’ll get dressed.”

They wore their warmest clothes, put on their respective hats, scarves and gloves and grabbed the lids off of two garbage cans before trekking to the closest park. Only, when they finally got to the top of the only hill, Mickey’s enthusiasm waned; the snow had begun melting in patches, so much so that he could see the brown, dead-looking grass peeking through in some parts.

“Maybe we should wait for it to snow again,” Ian suggested.

Mickey frowned. If Ian hadn’t said anything, he probably would have come up with the same idea, but he _hated_ being told what to do, even if it was only a suggestion. “No,” he said stubbornly. “I said we were going sledding and we’re gonna fucking go sledding.” Then, in a show of his resolve, he sat down on his garbage can lid and pushed himself forward with his hands until he gained enough momentum to get over the edge.

Everything was going perfectly for the first five feet or so, until the snow underneath him became more of a slush and he started slowing down. He slid onto to a sheet of ice and the garbage can lid got caught in it, but the incline was so steep at that point that his momentum kept him going. He slid, then rolled, down the rest of the hill, landing in a wet, muddy mess at the bottom of the hill.

Ian walked down after him and Mickey looked up to see the fucker laughing. “I-” he began, but Mickey cut him off with a death-glare.

“Not a fucking word,” he threatened. Ian attempted to stifle his laughter but couldn’t wipe the ridiculous smile from his face.

He held a hand out and Mickey begrudgingly grabbed it, the slushy mud so thick that he was actually having trouble getting up. The mud had gotten into everything ‒ his shoes and clothes were a soggy mess ‒ and he had even lost his hat somewhere along the way. He was filthy and absolutely miserable.

“Can I kiss you?” Ian asked once Mickey had stood up, surprising him by pulling him in close and wrapping his arms around him, despite how disgusting Mickey was. He held on tightly even as Mickey attempted to push him away. Mickey struggled for all of thirty seconds before accepting defeat. He looked up at Ian and sighed with pursed lips.

“Come on,” Ian coaxed, leaning in the last few inches and pressing his warm lips against Mickey’s frozen ones. He relaxed and let Ian deepen their kiss. Things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, but Mickey wasn’t entirely unhappy with the end result...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt, Enne! <3


	38. Chapter 38

Ian could always tell when Mickey was in a bad mood. It usually would start with him not wanting to talk much, spending less and less time in the living room or anywhere that his siblings could piss him off, and would almost always end with him snapping at Ian for something completely insignificant. This time wasn’t any different. All Ian had done was move some stuff around on the dresser to make space for his cell phone charger, and Mickey had totally flipped out.

“Come on, Mick. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Ian said, voice cheerful and coaxing.

“Fuck you,” Mickey spat, crossing his arms over his chest. He was sitting on their bed and pouting, looking just like Yevgeny did whenever playtime was over.

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you find it,” Ian offered.

“That’s not the fucking point, Gallagher,” he complained. “You keep moving my shit, and I’m getting fucking tired of it.”

“Well maybe if you had less junk in here, we wouldn’t have this problem,” Ian muttered, then immediately regretted his words when he heard the sharp intake of breath from Mickey. He pressed his lips together guiltily, knowing how touchy Mickey had become about his belongings after his dad and Svetlana had made him throw everything away the year before. He knew he had to backtrack, and quickly.

“Okay, okay. I know, ‘it’s not junk,’” he said, mimicking Mickey’s constant rebuttal as innocently as he could. “But, I’m just saying, you _do_ have a lot of useless stuff…” he said, walking towards the bed.

Mickey was still frowning, but he gave in and brought his legs closer, giving Ian space to sit with him. Ian tried to put a hand on Mickey’s thigh but it got batted away. Ian sighed, knowing he’d have to try a little harder to get Mickey to feel better.

“Ever think of becoming a garbage man?” he asked.

Mickey glared at him with his brows furrowed, apparently waiting for Ian to elaborate before he could bite his head off again.

“You know, with all the crap you bring home…” he continued, but Mickey’s scowl only deepened.

Ian sighed. To be fair, it wasn’t the funniest of jokes, but he had spent a lot of time looking up hoarder jokes online and the pickings were slim.

“The economy’s not doing so great right now,” Ian said, trying again, “but a garbage-man? Now that’s a secure job. Business is always picking up!”

Ian grinned, but his boyfriend was not amused. “My things aren’t garbage,” Mickey grumbled. “And you’re about as funny as a funeral.”

Ian put his hand on his chest, feigning injury from Mickey’s insult. He decided to try one last time. “It’s hard to explain puns to a kleptomaniac. They always take things literally,” he shot back.

At that, Mickey huffed out a small laugh. It was barely audible, but Ian clung to it. “Come on, you have to admit that one was kinda funny.”

“Shut up,” Mickey said, but Ian could see that he was really struggling to keep the smile off of his face. “I’m not a klepto,” he argued, then laughed and shoved at Ian. “You’re not funny,” he insisted, but was already smiling a little.

Ian leaned in and placed a soft, swift kiss on Mickey’s cheek. “I like your laugh,” he whispered, and when he sat upright again, he could see the small blush creeping onto his boyfriend’s face.

“Did you look up those stupid jokes ahead of time?” Mickey wondered.

Ian raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Wanna tell me why you’re really in such a bad mood?” he asked, instead of answering Mickey’s question.

“Not really,” Mickey told him.

Ian tilted his head to the side. “Are you pissed at me for real?”

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip. “No,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Ian said with a shrug, deciding to let it go and not push him. “As long as you stop taking it out on me,” he added.

“Okay,” Mickey agreed. “If you promise to stop with the puns.”

“I make no such promises,” Ian said. “If you want me to stop, you’re gonna have to find another way to keep my mouth busy,” he told Mickey with a laugh.

“Was that another fucking p-” he accused, but Ian caught his lips in a kiss before Mickey could even finish.


	39. Chapter 39

Yevgeny was barely two years old ‒ way too young to take to the movies, but Ian found out about this special showing their local theater did for kids on Saturday mornings and insisted that they all go. The theater played an old cartoon each week just for families to be able to take their little kids, and even though it was usually an old movie that everyone and their uncle had already seen, the fact that all the people there also had small kids meant that no one would give a fuck if another brat was making too much noise.

Of course, convincing Yevgeny to go wasn’t the issue ‒ put a cartoon on for the little guy and his eyes grow wide like nothing else. No, the problem was getting Mickey to agree to go. Money for tickets, money for popcorn, money for candy… it all added up, but Ian bought the tickets ahead of time and stocked up Yevgeny’s backpack with snacks so Mickey wouldn’t have any excuse to say no.

The movie playing that weekend was “Up”, and oddly enough, neither of them had seen it before. Yevgeny sat on a little booster seat, right between Ian and Mickey, and as the lights dimmed, Ian slowly passed out their smuggled-in popcorn and juice boxes. The movie began with a backstory of the main character, with a montage of him meeting his future wife as a kid, making plans for the future, actually getting married, buying their dream home, but then things got a little dark. The couple found out they couldn’t have kids, and Ian looked over at Yevgeny to make sure he was okay. It seemed like Yev had no idea what the scene actually meant, just like most of the other kids in the theater. While their parents were focused on the movie, the other children were being normal kids. The two little girls in the row in front of them were arguing over who would get the soda in the Barbie cup versus the Dora cup, while the boy to their right was tossing sour patch kids into the air and catching them in his mouth. Ian stopped worrying about Yevgeny and brought his attention back to the big screen.

The couple eventually moved past their inability to have kids and continued living, focusing on saving up for their dream trip and living their lives. They got old, but they were happy, together. And then they got even older, and the husband realized they had never gone on their vacation, so he bought his wife a ticket, but never was able to give it to her, because she got sick… and the next scene was of the funeral home, and Ian found himself swallowing hard and pressing his lips together, wondering what cruel motherfucker decided this was an appropriate way to start a friggin’ _cartoon_.

Just then, the kid behind him kicked the back of his seat hard enough to break his fixation on the movie screen, despite the heaviness of the moment. As Ian turned around to scowl at the kid, he caught a glimpse of Mickey putting his palms to his eyes, working hard to squash down any and all emotions in true Milkovich fashion. He had never expected his boyfriend to actually be so moved by it, but the introduction was sad as fuck; he couldn’t even blame Mickey for reacting to it.

The only problem was, he was too far from Mickey to be able to offer him any comfort. Instead, Ian grabbed a handful of popcorn from his ziplock bag and threw it over the top of Yevgeny’s head, covering Mickey in a spray of little white and yellow popped kernels. “Hey Mick,” he said in a hushed whisper, “don’t cry!” He grinned and stuck his tongue out at Mickey through his teeth.

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey sneered back, but at least he seemed to be over the “moment” he’d been having. The only evidence of it that remained was a slight glossiness over his eyes. Ian felt like he’d accomplished his mission.

Mickey opened his mouth to say something else but Ian hushed him with a sharp, “Shh!”, still smiling from behind his raised finger, resisting the urge to add some innuendo about fucking him later. They _were_ in a movie theater, surrounded by children, after all… not to mention the fact that Yevgeny was right there. Mickey managed to flip him off anyway and Ian turned to the screen once again as the title of the movie disappeared and the real film began.


	40. Chapter 40

Mickey was doing his best to keep his eyes trained on the TV instead of staring at Ian as his boyfriend carefully folded his clothes and packed them into a duffel bag. He was so focused on keeping his face blank while peeking at Ian in his periphery that he didn’t even hear him when Ian spoke to him.

“Hmm?” Mickey asked, realizing that Ian had been repeating his name.

“I asked if you think he’s any good,” Ian told him, tilting his head towards the screen. Mickey looked back to the TV and saw that Ian was referring to the football player who had just been drafted. In all honestly, Mickey had no idea who the player was, nor did he know which team had just picked him. He hadn’t actually been watching… He didn’t even fucking _like_ football, but he wasn’t about to admit any of that to Ian.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Mickey muttered with a shrug, still refusing to look at him. He heard Ian sigh and go back to counting out his socks and underwear.

Another few minutes passed before Mickey heard the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being pulled shut. The finality of the sound made him gulp instinctively. The time for denial had passed; he had to face the reality that Ian was actually leaving.

“It’s only for the weekend, Mick,” Ian told him yet again, probably for the hundredth time. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Despite knowing the truth in Ian’s words, Mickey was still upset. He knew he was being childish for being pissed about not being invited to go camping, jealous that Gallagher’s coworkers would be the ones spending time with him, even petty for being a dick to Ian all week since he’d found out about the team-building event.

He stole a glance at Ian and saw him frowning back at him, arms folded over his chest and eyebrows furrowed in concern. He almost felt bad for being so cold towards him… _almost_ … but Mickey couldn’t deal with his feelings properly so he let his face harden and stared blankly at the TV once again.

He only broke his vigil when he heard his phone ding. He’d thought it was still on the charger beside their bed but the sound had come from much closer than that. Ian was still standing beside him, only now Mickey could see that he was holding both of their phones in front of him. Mickey scowled at him because _of course_ Ian would so casually play off the fact that he totally knew Mickey’s password.

Only, instead of being offended or intimidated by Mickey’s expression, Ian came and sat down next to him. Mickey watched as Ian navigated through the menu on his phone, opened up the text messages app and showed him the source of the ding: a message from him, with a video attachment.

He raised an eyebrow at Ian, all pretense of watching the NFL draft forgotten.

“I made this for you,” Ian told him, pointing at the attachment. “You know... for while I’m gone,” he explained, and Mickey was sure he saw a blush creeping up onto Ian’s cheeks.

He reached for his phone but Ian pulled it away before he could open the video.

“Oh God, at least wait until I’m gone,” he begged, and Mickey snorted out a laugh. The guy had no problem shaking his ass in front of old geezers for the better part of the previous year but was acting shy about a little video for his boyfriend?

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Mickey demanded, to which Ian adamantly nodded his head. Mickey let out an exaggerated sigh and conceded with a quick, “fine,” before Ian placed his phone into his hand.

“I’ll call you every night, even if I have to walk a mile to find service in the woods,” he promised. He placed a gentle kiss onto Mickey’s cheek.

“You fucking better,” Mickey muttered, but the side of his mouth closest to where Ian had kissed him rose up in a lopsided smile at the exchange between them, betraying the harshness of his words.


End file.
